


Harry Potter and The Last of Us

by MandaaBears



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Last of Us
Genre: Alcohol, Child Abuse, Gore, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9469160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandaaBears/pseuds/MandaaBears
Summary: What if Harry Potter was set in the middle of a zombie apocalypse and Harry was the only hope for humanity? Terror and murder that's what.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters are pretty short sorry bros. But hopefully that means I can update more often

_Present (September, 1996)_

If Harry were asked whether he preferred sleeping in a house or the woods, he would probably pick the woods. It was quiet and the air didn’t smell stale or dead. Safety-wise though, it was more dangerous, out in the open, and anything could happen when you were asleep. But no one was around to ask him his preferences, so he kept it to himself.  
He’d been on the road for weeks now, “chasing a rumor” according to the rare few he came across. But to him, Camp Hogwarts wasn’t a rumor, it was hope. From what he heard, it was the biggest, safest refugee camp in Great Britain. That is, if you survived the journey.

“You’ll never make it on your own,” Petunia Dursley had said the day he left. She was probably right, but so far Harry hadn’t run into too much trouble. He diligently followed the railroad, only breaking from his path to find supplies in a nearby farmhouse. He’d only been mugged once and fortunately left alive.

Hedwig landed on a branch nearby and hooted, her feathers ruffled anxiously. Harry reached instinctively for the bat strapped to his shoulder and slowed his pace. There was no sound or movement save the gentle rustle of the trees. Harry held himself very still, his senses stretching out until he heard the tell-tale snap of a twig. He pulled the bat from his sling and slowly crept along the middle of the railroad track. He could pass through unseen if he played his cards right. From the woods came a low, gurgling moan and Harry’s stomach turned.

A person—rather, the bare resemblance of one—shambled out into the open. Its clothes hung in greasy tatters; its skin was a the grey-green color of dead flesh; half its face was a bloody, pulpy mess and it was missing most of its right arm. Another, more sickly than the first, shuffled behind. It slowly stumbled into the middle of the train tracks and remained there, already catching Harry’s scent.

Hedwig, not wanting to be a part of the carnage, flew from her roost and vanished. Harry didn’t blame her. His hand tightened around the bat. The instincts that told him to run or to just shoot them were fading, but still present enough to bring a cold sweat to his skin. He let out a low whistle to get their attention. It worked. It growled, a wet, sickening sound, baring its teeth as it moved towards him. They weren’t fast, by any means. At top speed they were still easy to outrun. But if there was one, there were usually more, and that’s when things became difficult.

Harry swung.

The first hit did its job. The body was already so rotten, the contents of its head splattered easily. But not matter how decayed a body was, the force of the swing always left Harry unbalanced for just a moment. The second walker hissed again and reached out its mangled fingers. Panting, Harry jumped back and swung again. The blow knocked the walker aside, and it fell, but it didn’t die. So he swung again. And again. And then it was over. Harry retched into the grass, his stomach heaving from the putrid smell of death and re-death.

“God…” he wiped his mouth as his breath came back. He hated everything.

He took care to wipe his bat in the grass until it was mostly clean, then took off in a slow jog, just to be sure nothing in the woods heard the noise and came sniffing around. Strangely enough, he didn’t feel any better once he realized he was alone again. He wondered, briefly, what his parents would think of him now. He quickly shook it off. It didn’t matter. They’d died in the first wave, leaving him with those awful Dursley’s.

Camp Surrey had been a nightmare all its own. Located on the fringes of what used to be London, the camp was a well oiled machine. Nothing got in or out that they didn’t want, and day to day, camp life wasn’t so bad. He didn’t mind the six o’clock curfews, or having to check in and out just to go from sector to sector, or the long lines waiting for rations. He’d been used to all of that for a long time. But his mother’s sister and her family had been loathsome. He almost preferred the walkers. At least with them he could fight back.

“We took you in!” Petunia would screech, always pointing that bony finger in his face. “We had nothing and we still took you.”

“Our Dudley needs the ration card more than you do. You eat like a damned bird anyway,” Vernon would grumble at him if Harry’s stomach so much as dared a growl.

“You’re making us choose between food or clothes?” Dudley would say snidely, making sure to speak loud enough for his parents to hear. “Mum, ickle Harry wants new clothes!”

“Wear Dudley’s old things, you ungrateful little boy!” was always the reply.

There was nothing Harry could do. He was underage and housing was limited, not that moving out had crossed his mind until he was miles and miles away already. And besides, no one wanted to take in an orphan. Not in the state the world was in. So he’d shut his mouth, he’d eaten less, he’d worn Dudley’s over sized clothes, waiting for any kind of sign.

That sign came in the form of Rubeus Hagrid, a giant stranger who came lumbering into town for supplies.

“I tell you what,” he’d said one night as he and Harry drank a strong tea, courtesy of Mrs. Figg. “Why don’t you come with me?”

“Come with you?” Harry replied incredulously. “Where?”

“To Camp ‘ogwarts o’ course!” said Hagrid. He took his time finishing his meager meal of canned meat, giving the scraps to his equally giant boarhound, Fang, before he said anything else. “It’s the safest place yet, I’ll say. And they’re still looking for a cure. Got a lab and everything.”

“No one is looking for a cure,” Harry said flatly. How many times had Petunia and Vernon told him to get “those silly ideas” out of his head?

“Some are!” Hagrid insisted, a smile buried somewhere under his beard. “They’re still hope, me boy. There’s still hope.”

Hagrid had left a day later, leaving Harry behind at Harry’s own insistence. Now trudging along the same path Hagrid had probably followed, he wished he’d gone. Or at the very least, he wished he had a friend.

The sun hung low in the sky when Harry found the tent village. It was abandoned and there weren’t even any bodies or walkers to take care of. Harry found this odd, but not odd enough to leave. Dusk would be falling soon. He set up his traps. Several strings with metal objects he found around the camp—an old oil lamp, empty cans, some forks—hung around in the bushes to alert him of any trespassers. He used tree branches and brambles and conveniently placed bushes as another barrier to trip up the more clumsy infected.

Then he went back to camp and built a low fire, just enough to keep warm, not enough to be seen from a distance. He found the note in one of the tents.

_Shacklebolt,  
Diggle disappeared again. We think we heard screams so we went to find him. Be back soon._

The note was covered in dust and yellowed. They hadn’t come back. Harry shivered and huddled closer to the fire. Hedwig returned moments later, a pheasant in her beak. Harry smiled and stroked her feathers. They shared their small meal in silence and listened to the trees.


	2. Chapter 2

_Camp Surrey (May, 1991)_

The day had started off so well. Eggs for breakfast and even a little ham that Dudley hadn’t managed to snatch from Harry’s plate. He’d washed his own clothes so he was certain they were clean. The morning was chilly, as early mornings often were. Dark thunderheads threatened rain. He hoped it would let up by the time he had to walk home. The military boarding school was only a few blocks away from Number 4 but there was a checkpoint Harry had to cross every morning to get into the inner city. Every morning he had to wait in line behind adults going to work. Every morning he had to show the guards his papers. And every morning he was pulled aside for a “secondary screening.” 

According to Aunt Petunia it was because he looked “sneaky and suspicious.” According to his neighbor, Mrs. Figg, it was because even after everything that happened “those military pigs” were still ignorant.

After being searched and cleared once again, Harry made his way through the dismal morning light to the school; an old hotel that had been gutted and turned into a military prep campus.

“Today we will be discussing the various ways one can be infected,” Binns paced slowly in front of the class. “Can anyone tell me the most common way an individual is infected?”

“A bite,” chorused the students.

“Precisely,” said Binns. “A bite. Another way is breathing in infected spores. After an individual has been infected and dead for a long time, they can sometimes grow mould or fungi that produce spores. Again, if you breathe in even a single spore you _will_ be infected.”

Harry wrinkled his nose and copied that down.

“The last way is if you ingest the blood or flesh of an infected individual,” Binns went on. Harry started and raised his hand.

“Sir,” he asked hesitantly, “what do you mean ‘ingest the flesh of an infected?’”

The class turned to look at him. Some had a sad, hollow look in their eyes. A look Harry recognized as someone who has seen too much. Others, like Draco Malfoy and his counterparts, Crabbe and Goyle, sneered.

“Don’t you know _anything_ , Potter?” Draco was the first to speak. “Those barbarians in the outer territories start eating each other once the food runs out.”

Harry felt sick, “Liar. No one would do that.”

“Are you really that thick?” Draco feigned pity. “I’m right professor, aren’t I?”

“Well, Mr. Malfoy in some regard, yes you’re correct,” Binns shifted uncomfortably. “But I don’t think ‘barbarians’ is the right—”

“See?” Draco interrupted, looking triumphantly at Harry. Harry clamped his mouth shut and stared very hard at his notebook. Now he felt sick and stupid. Crabbe and Goyle jeered and congratulated Draco on being correct, humiliating Harry in front of the class.

“Don’t feel too bad, Potter,” Draco said, turning back in his seat. “That magical world you live in where no one gets eaten is probably terrific.”

“Shut your mouth, Malfoy,” Harry spat. Draco just cackled and went back to pretending to pay attention. Harry scowled at his notebook then begrudgingly wrote down the information. Maybe he was a little naïve. It wasn’t as though Petunia and Vernon went out of their way to educate him on things like that. He wasn’t even sure they knew too much themselves. Anything having to do with the infected was “too unsavory” to be brought up in the house. And it wasn’t like they let Harry do much talking anyway.

As usual, Harry kept to himself during lunch. They were given a government provided meal of some mysterious protein that he hoped was beef, a mysterious vegetable that he hoped was squash, and a grain he knew for certain was barley. And it all came swimming in an opaque broth. Although the food was questionable and the company left much to be desired, as he watched the rain pour down outside, Harry felt a small moment of peace.

“My father says this place is headed for the pits,” a voice drawled nearby and the peace went with it. “He says we’ll probably have to move before the rabble form a coup.”

“Move?” said Pansy Parkinson, looking as interested as the embodiment of a cement block could look. “Move where?”

“Father says there’s a colony a few days from here,” Draco went on smugly. “They survive because they’re not a weak charity case like this hole.”

Harry turned a little to listen.

“But that means going…outside,” Pansy said, sounding a little frightened. “Outside the gates with _them.”_

Draco’s smirk slipped a little and he glanced out into the rain.

“So?” he shrugged after a moment. “By the time we move I’ll know how to fight. And my parents know. We’re not going to let some _zombies_ scare us.”

There was a tense chuckle from his crowd of onlookers. Harry just snorted and shook his head.

“Got something to say, Potter?” snarled Draco, having heard his scoff. “You’ve never been on the outside have you?”

“Like you have, Malfoy?” Harry adjusted his glasses and scowled at him.

“Course I have,” Draco stood and walked over. “Loads of times.”

“Have you?” Pansy piped, looking unconvinced but still slightly amazed.

Draco nodded, “Yeah. There’s a spot on the eastern gate that’s easy to get through if you know how.”

Nearby students started whispering, some buying in to Draco’s gloating, others looked afraid of what might be able to come in.

“You should tell someone. What if an infected finds it?”

“They’re too stupid to get through,” Draco shook his head then looked back at Harry. “If you’re so brave, you should prove it. Tomorrow night. We’ll sneak out.”

Harry gaped at him, then looked at the faces of the other students. Some shook their heads wildly, some dared him to agree with ferocious stares.

“You’re on, Malfoy.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Present (September, 1996)_

The infected had been one thing. It’s easy to fight something that only has two goals; _eat_ and _kill._

Uninfected humans, however, are a little more complicated. They want to kill, they want to eat, but their ways of going about it are a lot more involved than just running at something and shrieking.

Going into York was a necessary risk. Harry had run out of supplies and it seemed safe enough from the outside. In and out. Get supplies and get out. The first part was easy. He slunk through the empty, decrepit city unnoticed. He almost stumbled into a few walkers but he managed to slip by without having to put any of them down.

Having been born right after the virus started spreading, Harry had never seen a city that wasn’t littered with garbage and the shells of old cars. In the few pictures he found, it seemed like everything was alive and bright with color. But now there were only varying shades of grey from the layers and layers of dust and grime.

York was no different. The streets were littered with papers and plastic bags and garbage in various states of decay. Bodies of the infected had been shuffled off into the corners of alleys or just thrown into the gutters. Harry was barely sixteen and he had seen enough death for a lifetime. He was aware there was a time when it wasn’t kill or be killed, and that he’d be going to a regular high school had the world not gone to shit seventeen years ago. 

He tried not to think about it.

He held his pistol tightly in his hand as he crept down the empty streets. Shop windows yawned open, broken glass like razor teeth in a dangerous mouth. He found a small grocery store and threw a chunk of concrete inside. He waited outside, straining to hear any sign of movement inside. When he was met with silence, he slipped inside. Checking the store was a joke. Everyone knew, or should have known, that the stores had been picked clean. The only places that would still have any sort of provisions were camps that had been overrun or abandoned. Those were the most dangerous; the most likely to have walkers and bandits, or worse, hunters.

After a half-hearted search in the shop, he made his way down one of the main arteries, back towards a school. There were signs that stated the school had once been a refugee waystation; a place for travelers to rest and refuel before making their way to the quarantine zone in Manchester (a camp swarming with walkers that Harry had managed to avoid via a three hour foot path.) The doors of the school had been chained shut and many of the windows had been boarded up. He skirted around the perimeter of the school until he found an open window above a generator.

One awkward climb later, Harry was inside the building. It was dark and smelled like death and mildew. He heard… _something_ scurry in the darkness. He was very quickly coming to regret his decision. It was early September, or at least that’s what Harry’s scribbled, self-made calendar told him. The air was cool even inside and Harry shivered as he searched open lockers and the empty classrooms that had been converted into bunks. Something moved again in the hallways.

“Who’s there?” Harry called out against his better instincts. Then, unnecessarily, “I’m armed.”

There was silence followed by a distance moan from an infected. Harry swallowed hard and left the classroom, his gun raised and ready. His hand shook as he walked deeper into the school, and he scratched irritably at his arm.

He probably would’ve seen the trip wire if he’d cleaned his filthy glasses. But his glasses weren’t very high on his priority list so he ran right into the trap. Something snapped and a crate full of some unidentified heavy objects swung down from the ceiling and knocked Harry flat on his back. Blood poured out of his nose and into the back of his throat. He gagged and rolled onto his side. Dazed, it took him a moment to realized the clanging wasn’t the ringing in his ears, but the fire alarm blaring, having been set off by the rig.

Harry went cold and he tasted blood and bile in his mouth. He scrambled up unsteadily, his vision still swimming. He quickly located his gun and glasses and raced down the hall, the fire alarm echoing around him. He only had minutes, if that, before every infected in town followed the only noise for miles. He skidded to a stop as he saw shadows passing the window. He had to find another way out.

The gurgling moans of the infected were already echoing in the halls. Harry felt around for the freshest air and made for it. A walker startled him as he turned the corner and his gun discharged, missing it completely. It snarled and latched onto Harry. He gasped and cried out, hitting the creature repeatedly with the butt of his gun until its skull caved in and it slumped to the floor. But by then there were three more behind him. Panic overtook him and he bolted, trying to swallow the tinny taste of adrenaline and blood and sick.

He careened down the next hall, avoiding a whole pack trying to find the source of the noise. He had almost made it to the gym when he collided with a body. He yelped and struggled, trying to get his gun arm free.

“Watch it, mate!” a voice said and the person gave him a hard shove in the opposite direction. “You don’t want to go that way!”

Harry looked up into the befreckled face of a tall redhead. He was almost relieved until he saw two older boys behind the first. Twins it looked like. He was outnumbered and half the size of this group.

“Did you hear what I said?” the first boy shot him a look and started bodily dragging him away. “Gym’s full of the wankers, we’ve got a way out.”

“A-Alright,” Harry stammered and followed the boy’s direction, doubling back the way he’d come. They hadn’t beaten him and left him for dead yet, but odds were they were just waiting till they got outside.

“Is the caf clear?” one of the twins asked. It took Harry a moment to realize he’d been speaking to him.

“I er- I didn’t see,” he stammered.

“Course not,” said the other twin. Or perhaps the first. They could have been speaking at the same time, but things were suddenly very loud and complicated.

“Come off it, Fred,” said the boy Harry had run into. “He obviously ran into that bloody trap of yours.”

There was a soft click and a walker Harry hadn’t seen crumpled to the floor, an arrow sticking out of its head. He hadn’t even seen the boy raise his crossbow.

“Who are you guys?” Harry blurted.

“Well since we could die at any minute—” said of the twins.

“—we might as well introduce each other,” said the other.

“Ron. Ron Weasley,” the younger of the three said. “Pleasure.”

“I’m Fred and that’s George,” said the twin on the left.

“We set the trap that knocked you on your arse,” laughed George.

Harry gawked, “ _Why?_ ”

Fred and George just laughed again, “Why not? _Jump!_ ”

As they turned into the cafeteria, Harry narrowly avoided setting off another trip wire. The twins took the lead and he finally saw what they were running towards. Sitting in an open side door was a rusted blue Ford Anglia.

“Into the vehicle!” George crowed, taking out an infected that was getting too close to the driver’s side. Harry hesitated, a little nervous about getting into the small space with these new strangers.

“Oi, mate! Get in!” Ron shouted and leapt headfirst into the car. Harry looked behind him, seeing the swarm of infected pouring through the other doors. The trip wire snapped and suddenly the hall was in flames. Harry flinched and swore, charging after them with his heart in his throat. The engine revved and off they went.

They sat in a tense silence as the Ford Anglia sped out of the city. George drove, quietly muttering back and forth with Fred about the traps. Ron finally looked at Harry.

“So what’s your name?” he asked.

“Harry. Harry Potter,” Harry finally felt his nerves unwind. He looked out the back window at the pillar of black smoke coming from the school. “Why’d they set it on fire?”

“They were testing some new traps,” Ron looked exasperated. “That place still had loads of supplies!”

He kicked the back of Fred’s seat as he said that.

“If you were that passionate about it,” Fred turned to look at him, “why’d you help?”

Ron flushed and dropped the subject.

“Anyway,” Harry said, trying to diffuse the situation, “thanks for saving me back there.”

“No problem,” George glanced at him in the window. “You saved us a lot of waiting.”

“If we waited for one of those things to trip the wire, we would’ve been there all night,” said Fed, filling in the blanks.

Harry rubbed his sore nose, “Happy to help.”

“Mum’ll have a cow when she sees that,” Ron said, indicating Harry’s nose which was quickly purpling. “She’ll get some ice on it soon enough. It’s only another ten minutes to the Burrow.”

“Burrow?”

“Our house,” said the twins.

“Out in Beningbrough,” Ron elaborated. Harry nodded and wiped some crusting blood from his upper lip.

“She won’t mind then?” he asked. “That you brought a stranger home?”

“You’re not a stranger!” said George

“You’re Harry!” finished Fred.

Harry felt the beginnings of a smile and he looked past his reflection out at the countryside.


	4. Chapter 4

_Camp Surrey (May, 1991)_

Sneaking out was easier than Harry thought it would be. Uncle Vernon’s snoring was a solid alarm system. The floorboards sighed softly under Harry’s sock feet as he clutched a shoe in each hand. The front door was his worst enemy. The lock wasn’t too loud, but he knew the hinges creaked like a monster when opened. He transferred both shoes into one hand and very slowly opened the door. The first creak was not as bad as he thought. But then he made the mistake of pausing and starting again. The second creak seemed to echo through the house.

Uncle Vernon’s snoring stuttered and stopped.

Harry heard Petunia’s shrill whisper, then Vernon’s low grumble, then silence. Harry waited for footsteps. For the sound of hell raining down on him. But it didn’t come. So he slid out into the night and shut the door tightly behind him.

The night was damp and empty. The searchlights swung lazily right to left, glowing eyes scanning the darkness. Harry was small and he easily stayed in the shadows. The city was fast asleep, and those who weren’t asleep were under curfew. Each quarantine zone had an eight o’clock curfew. After eight, the sweeps began. The soldiers walked the streets, making sure no one was out and about, while also making sure no one had been infected and no infected had gotten inside.

That’s why Harry highly doubted there was a “hole” to sneak out of at the eastern gate. However, any chance to see Malfoy make a fool of himself was a chance Harry was willing to take. So he slunk through the streets, through the slums, towards the nicer part of town. He knew the Malfoy house only by reputation. It was big and white and austere, much like the Malfoy family itself. The lights were off when he passed by and not a sound could be heard from inside.

Harry had been given a crudely drawn map to the location of the opening. As he passed the Malfoy house, he felt a pang of jealousy and realized that’s exactly what Draco wanted. Why else would he have him pass through this way? And since it was the nicer part of town, there were more guards posted. People who lived in this area had once been rich, political figures. Not that wealth mattered at all anymore, but they still had powerful friends and the ability to hand out powerful favors.

Harry stopped quickly as he heard the sound of a military patrol passing through. Fortunately, his small, thin frame was easily pressed into the shadows and hidden away. Unfortunately, the patrol stopped for a breather at that very moment.

“Did you hear about Regan?” said an officer. “Got bitten by an unturned.”

“Damn,” said another as he relieved himself on a crumbling bit of wall. Harry screwed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the conversation. “Infected Protocol?”

“Yeah,” the first officer grunted. “Even unturned carry the virus. Shame. She was a good cop.”

“Nice tits too,” the second officer chortled.

“She’s dead, asshole,” the first officer lowered his voice. “Let’s keep moving.”

The second soldier offered a grumbled apology as they made their way back down the street, their voices disappearing. Harry let out a long breath he didn’t realize he was holding. If his aunt had taught him anything useful, it was that all soldiers were pigs. The only reason he believed her is because they proved it themselves, time and time again. He shook himself and kept moving.

When he reached the gate, there was no one in sight.

“Malfoy?” Harry dared a whisper into the darkness. He peered along the edges and seams of the gate. It was less of a gate and more of a wall built with thick pieces of wood and sheet metal. The snaggly barbed wire at the top was a grim touch, adding to the prison-like quality of the quarantine zone. Harry tread carefully, peeking into the bushes and rubble. He stood there for an embarrassingly long time before it dawned on him that he had been tricked. Flames licked his cheeks and he wadded Draco’s map into a ball.

“I _swear,_ I heard him say it,” Malfoy’s voice came from around the corner, piercing Harry’s rage. His heart froze when he heard the heavy bootsteps that accompanied Draco’s slippered shuffle. Harry looked around madly, and quickly darted into a decrepit little shack nearby. He covered his mouth to keep the panicked breaths from making too much noise. This was not good. The penalty for being out past curfew was severe. Not to mention what the Dursleys would do.

“Draco, there’s no one here,” Harry recognized Mr. Goyle’s voice, slow and just the smallest bit afraid of the Malfoy brat even though he was an armed soldier. “He must have been tricking you into coming out here.”

“Tch,” Draco hissed. “He’s not that clever.”

Harry ground his teeth and took a careful step back. Then the sound of more boots. Harry fell into a crouch and hid in the dirt and debris, his heart nearly choking him as it leapt into his throat.

“Soldier, what are you doing out of your sector?” the officer from before approached slowly. “And why is this civilian out of curfew?”

“Ah, y’see,” Mr. Goyle stammered. “Draco was showing me—”

“The boy was showing you something?” the soldier said incredulously. “Something so important he had to break curfew and take you sectors away from your assigned position?”

Mr. Goyle made a few more weak attempts to explain himself but it was a lost cause. Draco had been unusually silent the whole time, and Harry could almost hear the wheels of desperation turning in his head.

“Come on, son,” said a female officer. “You’re in a _lot_ of trouble.”

Draco scoffed haughtily but when he spoke his voice shook, “My father will have something to say about that.”

Harry continued to hold his breath as the patrol escorted Draco and Mr. Goyle away from the gate, Draco swearing his father would have their badges. As silence fell back over the night, Harry found himself breathless with laughter. How was Draco going to show his face after what happened tonight? The anger bled out and Harry practically ran back to Number 4, overjoyed with the turn of events.

“Where in God’s name have you _been?”_ as soon as Harry stepped foot in the house, his ear was seized by Vernon’s thick fingers. He and Petunia were standing in the living room in their nightclothes, their faces matching shades of red.

“Do you know what would have happened if you had been _caught?”_ Petunia whispered shrilly, glancing at the windows. “The neighbors!”

Harry felt very much like Draco probably had; cornered with no good explanation.

“I—I,” Harry stammered, straining against Vernon’s vice grip on his ear.

“No excuses!” Vernon spat and shook him. “Upstairs with you! Do not leave your room! There will be hell to pay if I see even one toe of yours!”

He threw Harry in the direction of the stairs. Harry stumbled and scrambled upstairs, nearly plowing into Dudley, who had been snickering and watching from the steps. He threw himself onto his bed, tearing his shoes off and throwing them into his closet.

As he lay down, glaring holes into the ceiling, he heard his door lock from the outside. Defeated and tired, he rolled onto his side and tried to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_Present (September, 1996)_

As they crested a hill, Harry saw a big farmhouse sitting in the middle of the rolling fields. It looked as though it had started out as a quaint little cottage, but somewhere along the line they had started adding extra rooms, even getting so ambitious as to build _upwards._ The rickety additions seemed to be held up with nothing but a wish and a prayer and a few planks of wood. There was a garden growing strong on one side of the house, plants climbing up to the window above it, and a small pond directly adjacent. To top it all off, there was a white picket fence surrounding the house with plenty of barbed wire atop it to keep people out. 

There were also some disturbing signs along the road. _Keep out, Infected Inside, All Dead, Spores._

Harry looked quizzically at Ron.

“Dad’s idea,” Ron shook his head. “It’s supposed to keep people out.”

“Does it work?”

Ron shrugged, “We haven’t seen anyone in a while. Maybe.”

Harry nodded and shifted his bag in his lap. There were three men outside, all older than Fred and George. They watched as the car carefully picked its way down the little country lane to the house. They pulled around the side and the twins were out in an instant, looking like they were comparing notes.

“Hey, aren’t you going to cover the car?” Ron shouted as they walked away. George waved over his shoulder at them and kept walking. Ron sighed and climbed out. “Come on then.”

Harry, not usually shy, felt a nervous twitch in his stomach as he followed Ron out.

“Alright, Ron?” the oldest man asked. From the way his eyes crinkled and the balding red hair on his head, Harry reckoned he was their father. “I thought I saw another head in the car. Who’s this?”

“Dad, this is Harry,” Ron clumsily threw a tarp over the car. Harry made an equally clumsy attempt to help. “We met him in York. At the school.”

“Good God, lad,” said Mr. Weasley, “what happened to your face?”

“Fred and George happened,” Ron said. “He ran into one of their traps.”

“Wow,” Mr. Weasley was now peering at Harry’s bruised nose. “Well. Arthur Weasley. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure, sir,” Harry quickly remembered his manners and shook Arthur’s Weasley’s hand, feeling self conscious about all the blood down the front of his shirt.

“Now you’ve met Ron, Fred, and George,” Mr. Weasley continued, “this here is Percy and Bill, their older brothers.”

He gestured to the two others. The younger of the two had a thin face and the nose supporting his horn-rimmed glasses was stuck just a touch too high in the air.

“Charmed,” he drawled and made a show of hesitating before shaking Harry’s grubby hand. Harry got the feeling that was supposed to make him feel inferior, but only felt the strong urge to laugh at him.

“Likewise,” Harry looked at Ron who rolled his eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Bill stepped forward and shook Harry’s hand, a little too firmly. Bill looked nothing like the other Weasley’s. His hair was long and pulled back into a ponytail, and he had the hooked canine of some animal hanging from an earring.

“Nice to meet you,” said Harry. “Er, thank you for letting me stop by. I should get going while there’s still daylight though.”

“Nonsense,” Arthur threw an arm around his shoulder. “Molly will want to see to that nose. Do you suppose it’s broken?”

“Don’t think so, sir.”

“Oh good. We’ve set our share of broken noses so even if it was you needn’t’ve worried.”

Ron trotted next to them as they went up to the house. From outside Harry could already smell something cooking. His mouth watered and his stomach groaned.

“Molly!” Arthur bellowed benevolently as he shut the door behind them. “We’ve got company!”

A small woman with frizzy red hair peeked around the corner. Her eyes went round when she saw Harry.

“What _happened?”_ she cried and disappeared back into the kitchen. There was a lot of racket as she bustled around. Arthur led Harry to the dining room table and sat him down, gently explaining what happened with more animated interjections from Ron. In moments, Harry had a plastic baggy full of ice pressed to his face.

“Thank you,” he mumbled thickly.

“Now you just rest. Ron, take his bag into the hall,” Molly tutted, patting Harry’s hand. Ron grumbled at being bossed around

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said again.

“No need to thank me, dear,” she smiled warmly. “Have you eaten? Supper will be on the table soon.”

Harry opened his mouth to thank her again but she was already moving on, taking Arthur into the hall where they began to have a very hushed conversation. This gave Harry time to look around.

Harry had seen maybe two true homes in his life. The Dursley’s; all doilies, and chipped pastel, and knit blankets, and too many pictures of baby Dudley. And Mrs. Figg; warm and inviting with earth tones and comfortable couches, sparse, but comforting even if it did smell like cats. One had been poison from the start. The other had been poisoned for him.

The Burrow wasn’t like either of those. At first glance it looked like it was falling apart, boarded up windows with sheets hanging from them, planks of wood and nails by every door, blankets that had been sewn up and patched so many times Harry couldn’t tell what the original product was, and random bits of clothing strewn everywhere. At second glance, Harry realized this is what a home should probably look like; lived in.

He saw the family pictures still on the walls, books crammed into shelves until there was no other place to put them but the floor, there were at least two height charts that still seemed current, and a hearty little stove with a fat pot simmering on top. Even with the ice pressed over most of his face, Harry felt warm.

Ron returned moments later and sat across from Harry, deftly dropping his crossbow on the table.

“So what were you doing out in York?” he asked, shrugging his jacket off

“I needed supplies,” Harry set the ice down and wrinkled his nose. Still sore, but better. “I ran out.”

“Yeah I figured, but why? Where are you from?” Ron leaned forward.

“Surrey,” Harry replied, still deciding how much he wanted to give away.

“Surrey!” Ron’s eyebrows shot up “That’s ages away! What are you doing way out here?”

Harry paused, picking at a scab on his hand. Then he laughed at himself. Ron had saved his life after he put his and his brothers’ in danger. Harry realized he’d probably been on his own too long.

“I’m looking for Camp Hogwarts. In Scotland,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. There was a pregnant pause as Ron stared at him.

“You’re a nutter,” he finally said. “That’s _so far._ You’ll never make it!”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Harry slumped in his seat. “I made it this far, you know.”

“Yeah,” Ron said slowly, mulling this over. “Yeah, you have. But…it’s twice as far. At least—”

He drew off, obviously trying to do the math.

“Almost five-hundred kilometers, I know,” Harry glumly finished his train of thought.

“Five-hundred!” Ron exclaimed and shook his head. “What’s so important there? Why not just stay in Surrey, I’m sure it was safe.”

“It was safe but…there’s been talk they’re still working on a vaccine in Scotland,” Harry looked over at the hall where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were still talking.

Ron sobered, his eyes narrowing in concentration, “A vaccine?”

Harry nodded, letting him think. He listened to the distant sounds of Fred and George hollering back and forth. A girl’s voice joined them, a muffled explosion, cheers. For a moment Harry wanted to go out and join them. For a moment, at least until he remembered he was just passing through. A night at most.

Ron opened his mouth to speak again but his parents walked in and he snapped it closed. Mrs. Weasley marched right over to Harry and studied his nose.

“Better,” her face softened as she gave an approving nod. “I’m sorry about those boys. I don’t know what to do with them.”

“It’s alright,” Harry smiled a little. “They’re clever for coming up with that all on their own.”

Molly pointed a wooden spoon at them, “Now don’t you start encouraging them too. They’re insufferable enough as it is.”

“They didn’t even help cover the car,” Ron added, obviously still sore about it.

“Crossbow off the table, Ron,” was Mrs. Weasley’s only reply. She fussed about the kitchen for a moment then looked at Harry again. “Why don’t you go wash up? There’s a bathroom down the hall on your left. Running water and everything.”

As he washed his face with warm water and a soft cloth, Harry felt as if he’d been dropped into the lap of luxury, even if Ron made hurried excuses about the mess.

“I think it’s great,” Harry interrupted him when he apologized again for the mess in the living room. “It’s a good home.”

Ron’s ears turned pink and he held back a grin, “Thanks. It holds up.”

“How long have you lived here?” Harry asked.

“My whole life,” Ron replied. “My mum and dad lived here long before that too. The Burrow is so far out of the way, no one really bothered with it when the infection spread. Dad and Bill and Percy have been working on it ever since. Making it safer. After dinner I’ll show you the tunnels.”

“Tunnels?” Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Yeah,” Ron’s eyes lit up. “They’re wicked. We’ve got rooms full of food and supplies, spare bedrooms, and a tunnel that connects to a sewer line in case we ever need to escape. All under the house.”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“Wait ‘til after dinner,” laughed Ron. “Mum’ll throw a fit if we go down there now.”

As if on cue, Mrs. Weasley called them from the kitchen, “Dinner! Bill, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny! To the table with you!”

Doors creaked open and slammed shut and several pairs of feet thudded into the kitchen. Ron stood and motioned for Harry to follow, which he did. The long dining table was now full of people and dishes of steaming food. Harry caught the eye of a girl around his age and smiled politely. She caught herself gawking and quickly looked away.

“Didn’t know we were having guests,” she muttered, tugging on one of her twin braids.

“This is Harry, dear,” said Arthur. “Fred and George and Ron found him in York. Harry, this is Ginny.”

“Hi. Thanks for having me,” Harry said awkwardly as he sat between Ron and Fred.

“Help yourself, Harry dear,” Mrs. Weasley said kindly, setting down a bowl of stew in front of him. Harry’s stomach growled audibly, and Fred raised his eyebrows at him but had the decency not to make a comment. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a hot meal, and he had to hold back from shoveling it into his mouth ravenously. Warm bread was placed on the table as well and Harry almost stabbed Ron’s hand reaching for a slice.

“This is wonderful, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said, remembering his manners.

“Thank you, love,” she replied warmly. “We do what we can.”

“Where does this all come from?” he asked.

“Cities in the area,” Arthur gestured around with his spoon. “We venture out about once or twice a month. You'd be surprised what's left out there.”

“Mum always gives us a shopping list,” George said around a mouthful of stew.

 _“You,”_ Ginny hissed from her end of the table. “She always gives _you_ a shopping list.”

“Don’t be bitter,” Fred chided. “That’s no way to get a boyfriend.”

“Ha- _ha_ ,” Ginny flung a bread crust at him. Harry laughed and her scowl turned into a smile.

“You’re fifteen, Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley stood and refilled Harry’s glass of water. “When you’re a little older you can start going out with your brothers.”

“But Mum, Ron got to-!” Ginny protested but was cut off from a short cough from Percy.

“It’s not polite to argue in front of guests, Ginny,” he said arrogantly. “You heard Mum.”

“Stuff it, Percy,” Ginny and the twins said in unison.

Harry grinned at them over his stew, warmth spreading through his whole body.

“Percy’s never even _been_ outside the Burrow,” Ron muttered to Harry. “He says his talents are more prudent here at home.”

“Prudent?”

“His word not mine.”

They snickered then quickly stopped when Percy shot them a look.

“So Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said once the drama had passed, “are you just passing through?”

“Er, yes,” he looked into his empty bowl then back up at her. “I’m continuing North. Towards Scotland.”

“Scotland!” Mrs. Weasley said breathlessly. Ginny leaned forward to look at him, her braid narrowly missing her stew bowl. “What in heaven’s name is in Scotland?”

“A quarantine zone,” Harry replied, “of sorts. I’m told it’s the safest place in the world. I wanted to join them.”

“Oh sweetheart, you’re so young!” she gasped. “Where did you come from? Can’t you go back home?”

“Molly,” Arthur warned quietly.

“It’s alright,” said Harry, shrugging. “I came from Surrey. But that’s not my home. Not really. I couldn’t go back even if I wanted to.”

“Stay here then,” she insisted. “Stay here with us. Just for a little while. Get your rest, get fed. Then you can be on your way.”

Harry looked into the expectant faces of the Weasley family. He thought about his time alone on the road, and even before when he was alone at Camp Surrey.

“Well,” he sighed, smiling into his stew bowl, “I suppose Scotland can wait.”


	6. Chapter 6

_Present (September, 1996)_

“So this is the door to the basement,” Ron gestured to a carved wooden door under the stairs. It had at least six or seven different kinds of bolts and locks just on the outside and Harry counted several more when the door was opened. Ron flicked a switch on the wall and several bare bulbs buzzed to life, leading down the basement stairs.

It was clean, for a basement. Harry had been expecting dust and cobwebs; things he had read in books. But it was nice. There were chairs and couches and a table. Against the wall was a bookshelf and a few cabinets, along with an old washer and dryer. It looked almost like a second living room underneath the first.

“With a family this big, _you need_ two living rooms,” Ron joked when Harry mentioned it.

“I bet,” Harry smiled. It was strange to smile. To have a conversation with another person again. It had only been a little more than two weeks since he left Surrey, but it wasn’t as if he’d had many friends to begin with.

“This door here,” Ron pointed and went to a metal door that looked like it had been built by the Weasley’s themselves, “this leads to another store room.”

He opened the door and the first thing Harry smelled was fresh earth. The room was bigger than he thought it would be and there were shelves full of food and equipment.

“Wow. Where did all this come from?”

“Nearby cities,” Ron replied. “It looks like a lot but for a family of nine it goes quickly.”

Harry paused and did the math, “Don’t you mean eight?”

Ron frowned quizzically then made a face, “Right. Eight. Well it technically is nine. My oldest brother, Charlie, was in Romania when everything….y’know. We haven’t seen him since.”

“Sorry,” Harry said lamely, feeling like he should reach out to his new friend but not quite sure how.

“Yeah,” Ron shrugged. “I’ve never met him, but Mum and Dad still think he’s alive out there somewhere.” He gave a short laugh, obviously unconvinced.

Harry dropped his gaze, an awkward silence falling over them.

“My mum and dad died during the first wave of the infection,” he offered. “They got infected and managed to get me to my aunt and uncle’s in Surrey before they turned.”

Ron looked up at him, a sympathetic crinkle appearing between his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry mate,” he said. Harry nodded, feeling as though a bond had been struck in their mutual missing pieces.

“Anyway,” Ron went on, leaving the store room and leading him back out. “Dad says the point isn’t just to survive but to live too.”

Harry nodded as if he also understood. Ron led him down yet another set of dark stairs. The tunnels really were a sight. In their time working on the Burrow, the Weasleys had somehow worked electrical wiring down into them from the generator upstairs, Percy’s idea and Bill’s execution. Ron explained that they only use the electricity if they have to, and stuck mostly to candles and oil lamps.

Bill and Ginny were fiddling with the generator when the boys resurfaced to take a look at it.

“Hullo, Bill,” Ron said fondly, “Ginny.”

They both gave small salute, Ginny with a pair of pliers and Bill with a grimy handkerchief. Harry found Ginny very interesting. She sat crosslegged on top of the generator, very much in the way, but Bill didn’t complain. Her head was bent over a length of wire she was stripping, her braids significantly less intact than they had been only an hour before. Her eyes were dark and focused and her hands were greasy up to her wrists.

“It’s nearly dark,” Bill was saying, wiping his hands and slapping his hat onto Ginny’s head. She smiled, her eyes focusing, finally seeing Harry and Ron in front of them.

“We should go inside now and help Mum,” Ron said gravely, his eyes already scanning the surrounding area. Bill and Ginny silently agreed, packing up their tools and leading the way back into the house. Mrs. Weasley was already hanging blankets in the windows while Mr. Weasley followed with planks of wood for good measure. Harry made an attempt to help but Mrs. Weasley stopped him.

“No, no, no. You need a bath,” she unceremoniously dropped a towel and washcloth into his arms and steered him towards the stairs. “A _hot_ bath.”

“She’s saying you smell!” Fred crowed. Harry flushed red, embarrassed, even though it was probably true.

“Oh hush,” Mrs. Weasley’s voice was good-natured enough but her glare was lethal.

So Harry had a bath. He was aware of what the hot water meant, the sacrifice. He was also aware of the knots unwinding as he soaked, the layers of filth melting off. He felt, for a moment, human again. 

His room was tucked in the corner of the house. It was small and square with a bed bigger than any bed Harry had ever seen. The walls had posters from bands that existed ages ago, and from the black and white school picture on the dresser, this room was once Charlie’s. It felt a bit odd, like he was sleeping in a shrine.

“We’re so glad you’re staying on with us, Harry dear,” Molly said as she fluffed and refluffed the pillows on the bed. “Are you sure you’ll be alright on the first floor? We haven’t had anything get close in months but I worry.”

“Yes, I’m alright, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry smiled at her, a sleepy smile. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled back and made a gentle attempt to smooth his hair. She murmured a brief goodnight and shut the door behind her. Harry lay in the darkness, listening to the settling of the house and its inhabitants. He heard Fred and George thumping around and laughing until Percy shouted at them. He heard Ginny humming and someone, perhaps Mr. Weasley, already snoring. In the woods, there had been a different sort of settling. Birds chirping, leaves rustling above and behind, the occasional snap of a twig or shriek of a small animal. He’d gotten used to half-sleeping. Keeping an ear out for sounds of danger. But in this bed, although it smelled of mothballs and dust, he felt like he could slip into unconsciousness and it wouldn’t matter.

Before he did there was a soft knock on the door.

“Yes?” he sat up a bit to peer at the sliver of light coming through. There was a long pause and for a moment he thought he’d imagined it.

“Are you really going to Scotland?” Ginny’s voice came from the darkness.

Harry paused, almost as long as she had, “Yeah. I am.”

Another pause then, “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Ginny.”

He heard her feet pad away and he let his head fall back into the pillows, sleep overtaking him in moments.


	7. Chapter 7

_Camp Surrey (May, 1991)_

Harry had never been in so much trouble. He thought in his eleven years he’d seen the worst of the Dursleys but life decided to prove him wrong yet again. Uncle Vernon had put a padlock on his room, sealing him in as soon as he came home from school. They fed him his meals through a slot at the bottom of the door. One could hardly call it a meal though. His rations had gone down by half, no doubt going right onto Dudley’s plate. Harry bitterly decided to start hiding his own ration cards, but upon further reflection he realized the Dursleys would surely notice and he promptly changed his decision.

School was the only relief, if only a little. There had been one altercation with Draco and one only. Harry had been successfully ignoring him but then he heard his name from across the classroom.

“I waited for _hours _,” Draco was saying, checking to see if Harry was looking, which he was now. “It _was_ cold, thank you Crabbe. But I guess ickle Harry Potter was just too _scared_ to come.”__

__Harry felt heat flame up around his face, “Is that what you’re saying, Malfoy? _I_ heard your nanny had to take you home to Daddy because you broke curfew.”_ _

__It was Draco’s turn to blush. He was red all the way to the roots of his hair as his classmates snickered behind their hands. Goyle nodded slowly for a moment before Crabbe jabbed him in the side with an elbow. Draco didn’t respond but Harry could see him plotting revenge behind those pale eyes. He only smirked, enjoying the sound his mouth had made when it snapped closed._ _

__“Little blessings,” Mrs. Figg said airily from her open window after Harry told her about it. Harry nodded and watched her knit for a few moments, leaning out of his own open window._ _

__“Mrs. Figg, what was it like before the virus?” he asked, as he had many times before._ _

__She eyed him mildly over her glasses. She was a small woman, brown with frizzy greyed hair that was always trapped under some kind of scarf or hairnet. Police officers (often called by Petunia) showed up at her house at least once a week telling her to get rid of her three cats that she kept and fed illegally. Each week was met with the same gentle resistance, insisting that she didn’t own any cats. On more than one occasion, Harry had taken them into his room using a cleverly made pulley system and wicker laundry basket in return for wine-gums and licorice._ _

__“What would you like to know?” she asked, setting down her knitting._ _

__Harry paused, “What do you miss the most?”_ _

__Mrs. Figg chewed on the inside of her cheek for a long moment._ _

__“I miss the way the air smelled. Not like here. Not stale,” she murmured. “I also miss the radio. I used to listen to it when I cleaned.”_ _

__Harry nodded slowly, as if he understood. Hoping he understood. The past was a lost world to him. Buried under years of debris and horror._ _

__“D’you think we could ever go back? Like…if they find a cure?” he asked._ _

__Mrs. Figg looked very sad for a moment and slowly shook her head. She said nothing but Harry’s heart sank._ _

__"But if they found a cure, people would stop dying," he reasoned. "And they could cure the infected."_ _

__"Newly infected, yes," Mrs. Figg conceded. "If they cured someone before the fever took them. But there's no coming back from the ones that are dead, unfortunately. No doubt they've already shown you what _those_ look like."_ _

__Harry shivered. When he was in grade two, they had shown them slides of the infection progression. Probably more for shock value than educational purposes. In any case, yes, he had seen the way the walking dead decompose._ _

__"If there were a miracle drug to help bring back the dead, we would be a truly exceptional species indeed," Mrs. Figg went on, dismally. "And Harry dear?"_ _

__She looked at him seriously over the rims of her glasses, sadness glittering in her dark eyes, "A cure won't stop people from dying, I'm afraid. You have a good heart and I'm ever so sorry you were born into such a world."_ _

__Before Harry had a chance to even translate what he was feeling into words, he heard Vernon’s steps thundering up the stairs. He hardly had time to slam his window shut and throw himself onto his bed before his door was opened and Vernon’s red face was shoved into it._ _

__“Did I hear you talking to someone up here?” he growled, looking around suspiciously._ _

__“Maybe just to myself?” Harry offered. “There’s no one up here.”_ _

__Vernon went to the window and looked out, eyes narrowed. Harry followed his gaze, heart in his throat. If Mrs. Figg was anywhere near the window…._ _

__But her window was shut and empty. Harry sighed softly, relief flooding him. Uncle Vernon swung on him again, his eyes scraping over him as if he was looking for a reason to chew him out._ _

__“You need a haircut,” he snarled viciously when he found nothing else. Then he left just as noisily as he had come, locking the door behind him._ _

__Harry let out a long breath. Even that small moment was enough to make him tired for the rest of the day. He glanced out the window to see if Mrs. Figg had reappeared._ _

__She had not._ _

__Harry let himself fall back onto his bed and closed his eyes. He imagined a different world. His parents’ world. A world that smelled sweet and was full of color and life and music. He allowed himself this quiet moment where things were better. Where the world had healed._ _


	8. Chapter 8

_Present (September, 1996)_

Harry awoke with the feeling of teeth in his flesh. He rolled out of bed and dropped into a crouch, his knife in his hand. His senses came back to him all at once. He was in the Burrow. There were no dead in his room. Still, he checked himself for wounds.

There were none, save for the years old scar on his arm. He hadn’t even caught his breath yet before knock on the door scared it out of him again.

“Harry?” Ron’s voice came from the other side. “Are you alright in there?”

“Y-yes!” he quickly called back, his hands shaking as he put his knife away and fumbled for his clothes, or at least a jacket to cover his scar. He opened the door and postured as though he hadn’t been having a nightmare only seconds before. “Sorry, was I being too noisy?”

“You were screaming,” Ron said flatly. Ginny, Fred, and George all stood a distance down the hall, peering at him. Harry swallowed and shifted. “Something about a pig?”

“Got into a scrap with a boar,” Harry shrugged. “I must have been dreaming it.”

All four of the Weasleys before him nodded in the same slow, somewhat unconvinced way. Harry put his glasses on and shuffled out of his room, quietly ending the conversation.

“Is there anything I can help with?” he asked.

“Not until you have breakfast, love!” Mrs. Weasley called from the bottom of the stairs. “You lot, come on now!”

“Yes, Mum!” they all chimed. Ron lightly punched Harry’s arm and nodded towards the stairs. Morning in the Burrow was a wild thing; a swirling mass of entropy. It started when Fred took the banister as a means of travel and was promptly squawked at by Percy who almost dropped his tea. George crashed down the stairs after him, and mimicked Percy’s squawking the whole way down _(-nearly burnt my hand off, Fred Weasley! You’re a_ menace!)

Ginny walked down a little more gracefully, studied the situation, then tentatively hooked her bare foot around Percy’s ankle. Percy went one way and the tea went another (judging from foul language, all over Bill.)

“Bill!” Ginny put a hand to her throat in mock horror at the offending language as Harry reached the bottom of the stairs. Percy was on the floor and Bill was standing in a puddle of tea looking very morose.

“Make sure to change out of those wet socks,” Mr. Weasley said with a weary sigh, as if such things happened daily.

Harry cast a look at Ginny who was standing under Percy, repeating a loop of _I’m sorrys_ and _I didn’t mean tos_ in varying cadences. She caught his gaze and, while Percy was gesturing erratically, winked.

Harry grinned and found a place at the breakfast table where warm bread was steaming and brown sugar was melting into oats and cream. It looked heaven-sent.

“So besides tripping each other down the stairs,” Harry said to Ron when everyone else had joined them for breakfast, “what do you do in the morning? What kind of chores?”

“Well,” Ron said around a mouthful of food, “I think today Mum was going to do laundry. Percy usually helps with that. Um…we can go get firewood, check what’s in the garden, if anything’s ready but I doubt it. Probably help check the perimeter, the fences.”

“What about…dusting? Making the beds? Y’know, tidying up?” Harry looked at him curiously.

“Tidying up?” Ron spoke as if he were talking about a disease. “Is company coming or something?”

Harry’s cheeks felt warm and he could do nothing else but shrug.

“Mum does sometimes if things get really dusty but not every day,” Ron went on. “We’ve got more important things to do.”

Harry nodded, silently remembering all the times Petunia had jumped down his throat because he’d forgotten to dust the sitting room. Ron seemed to notice the tension and moved the conversation along.

“Tell me more about your camp,” he asked. “What was it like?”

“Well there were a lot of rules,” Harry said darkly. “And police. And walls. Not enough food.”

“That’s what Mum and Dad keep saying,” said Ron, a sour look on his face. “Too many people in one place.”

“One match and the whole thing will go up like a tinder box,” Ginny said in a rather spot on impression of Mrs. Weasley. Harry laughed. Ginny looked pleased.

“We had school. Training. Things like that,” Harry continued. “It was alright. I like it better here.”

Ron’s ears turned pink and he smiled proudly, looking around the table at his family, “Yeah. They’re alright.”

Ginny caught Ron’s look and stuck her tongue out at him. Fred and George did the same.

Breakfast ended the same way it began. A whirlwind of elbows and knees and no George I’m not letting you use the leftovers as substitute rocket fuel.

There was a small forest on the eastern side of the Burrow several meters away. It was the only weak spot in the perimeter. The whole thing was only half a kilometer wide but it was dense and dark. It was hard to see anything coming. And that’s where Ron and Harry spent half of their morning. There were about five days of actual sunlight in the England during the autumn months, and Harry’s first morning in the Burrow happened to be one of them. It was enough chill in the air to warrant a jacket but the sun was still belligerent enough to burn hot on the backs of their necks.

Harry had decided long ago that he liked Ron. He also liked him more when he wasn’t shouting to be heard over his siblings. As he, Ron, and Ginny walked down the little path through the overgrown grass, Harry felt like this was the first time he’d actually had a friend. There was still a small pang of sadness when he realized he would have to leave soon. But that was a thought for another time.

“Was it hard living on your own?” Ginny tramped after Ron and Harry as they edged along the outer fences, checking for holes and weak posts. “I mean you didn’t have anyone to watch your back, did you?”

“I had…” Harry paused. “I had Hedwig.”

“What’s a Hedwig?” there was a laugh in Ron’s voice.

“She’s….an owl.”

“An _owl?_ ” Ginny and Ron turned to him with matching looks of confusion.

“A snowy owl,” Harry nodded. “I sent her off before I went into the high school. She usually finds her way back to me but…”

He pulled a small golden whistle out of his pocket and waved it. Ginny plucked it from his fingers and looked it over.

“What does _Snitch_ mean?” she asked, reading the engraving on the side.

“A snitch is a wanker who—”

“I know what _a_ snitch is, Ronald,” Ginny raised her arm to throw the whistle at him but Harry grabbed it before she let loose.

“I don’t know what it means. I found it and Hedwig seems to like the noise,” he explained, rubbing his thumb over the engraving. Ginny and Ron watched skeptically as he blew a short tune. He searched the skies for a moment, giving himself a small satisfied nod as he kept walking. Ron jumped into the lead again after pondering the skies.

“So your best friend is an owl,” he said, nodding. “Where did you two meet?”

“I found her trapped in a barn,” Harry replied, stepping over a gnarled root. “There was no food or water and a few walkers that wouldn’t leave her alone. I let her out and she kind of….followed me.”

“How sweet,” Ginny murmured. Harry agreed. Then Ginny made a soft sound like a sigh and before Harry or Ron could ask what that was about, Hedwig landed on his back, her talons sinking into his shoulder. His cry turned into an easy laugh as she fondly nipped his ear.

“She’s gorgeous,” observed Ginny. Her voice was reverent as she gazed at her, reaching out hesitantly. Hedwig let out a soft, cautious noise and fluffed out her feathers.

“It’s alright, Hed,” Harry chided. “Here.”

He lightly captured Ginny’s wrist. She met him with some resistance, looking at him venomously, her cheeks pink.

He swallowed. Then lightly tugged her wrist towards him.

She eyed him, eyed Ron (who stayed out of it), then allowed him to lift her hand to Hedwig’s feathers.

“You didn’t have to grab me to do that,” she said. There was still an edge to her voice but she seemed pleased as she stroked Hedwig. Hedwig also seemed pleased, shivering and making a little sound Harry affectionately called a purr.

“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly, letting go of her. “She does seem to like you.”

“Of course she does,” said Ginny.

Harry smiled then offered his shoulder to Ron.

“No thanks, mate,” he shook his head and wiggled his hand. “I’m a bit attached to my fingers.”

“Suit yourself,” Harry scratched under Hedwig’s chin and she purred again. Then she gave a mighty flap and took to the skies again. Ginny laughed as she watched her spiral upwards towards the sun.

Then she dove, screeching desperately as she swooped over Harry’s head, snagging his hair. His heart stuttered and he drew his bat instantly.

“Something’s coming,” he said, looking fearfully towards the woods.

“How do you know?” Ginny was already holding her metal bat with both hands and scanning wildly.

“That bloody bird, I reckon,” Ron’s voice shook a little then cracked as they all heard the rustling in the bushes, the guttural snarl.

Harry counted at least four. He swallowed hard, his hands clamming up again. Then he felt Ron’s shoulder against his, facing the walkers with his feet planted.

“Ginny,” he said, “go get Dad.”

“Piss off, _you_ get Dad,” she spat back, shifting on the balls of her feet, looking ready for a fight. _A storm with skin,_ Harry thought. Ron swore and looked over his shoulder.

“Can’t you kill them yourselves?” Harry asked, glancing at them.

“Mum and Dad don’t like it,” replied Ron. “We usually get Bill or Dad.”

“Or we let them blow themselves up,” Ginny added.

“Well they’re getting closer,” Harry swung his bat and stepped forward. Ron made as if to protest but when Ginny followed Harry, he reluctantly drew a hunting knife the length of his forearm and followed.

The fight was short but brutal.

He understood that the noise attracted them, but still Harry much preferred shooting the dead. Bludgeoning them into rotted mush was a terrible ordeal. It always left Harry heaving. And that’s where he ended up; hunched against a tree, trying to keep down the first good breakfast he’d had in weeks. There was the soft crunch of footsteps then a hand on his back.

“It never gets easier,” murmured Ginny. “Does it?”

Harry gave a weak shake of his head and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. A bit ashamed of himself, he rose and took a breath.

“No,” he shook his head again then looked at her. “Thank you for having my back there, Ginny.”

“Of course,” she smiled. Harry stood, still feeling sick but the embarrassment forced his back straight. One didn’t throw up in front of a girl like Ginny.

“What did you _do?_ ”

Percy was storming across the field. Ginny, Ron, and Harry let out identical sighs. All they could do was watch as he came at them.

“You three,” Percy sputtered, “you’re too far out, _for one thing._ And for another—(here he tripped on a gopher hole)—you should’ve called Dad or Bill, or even the twins!”

“They were too close,” Ron said as he approached them. Harry could still hear the adrenaline in his voice, the way he stood and hadn’t quite caught his breath yet suggested he still felt the thrill and shock of the fight.

“They would’ve gotten caught in the fence or stepped on a trap,” Percy was red in the face. “It’s _dangerous_ Ron!”

“I _know_ , Percy,” Ron snapped, his voice clipped. “But we took care of it.”

“Yeah, Perce. Relax,” Ginny tapped her bat on the ground, knocking a gross walker bit into the grass.

“I am relaxed!”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

Percy took a breath, “I am relaxed. I’m just being firm.”

“Okay,” Ginny was decidedly unconvinced.

Percy opened his mouth again then his face turned a pale shade of green. His mouth opened and closed for a moment, no sound coming out. Harry looked back towards the woods, following Percy’s vacant eyes.

“Oh no,” Ginny’s soft voice carried through the sudden silence. “Penny.”

They all watched as a single figure came into the light. A girl, or what used to be a girl, shambled towards them. It was obvious she had been pretty once. Before the bite. It was on her forearm, and it was deep. A week old at most.

Harry wanted to ask who she was, who she had been but the silence was frail, strung out like glass. He was afraid if he spoke, something would shatter.

“Someone,” Ron’s voice was high, shaking feebly. “Do something…”

Nobody moved. Nobody but Percy, who fell to his knees. Harry looked between the Weasley siblings. He could see Ginny shaking and Ron’s arms hung limp at his sides. The walker, Penny, had spotted them and was coming, her hands reaching for them, her bloody, rotting teeth bared hungrily as she snarled.

“Do something,” Ron pleaded again. This time he was looking at Harry.

Harry nodded slowly and took his gun out of his holster.

“Don’t look,” Ginny threw herself around Percy, holding him tightly, pressing his face into her shoulder.

The bullet struck true. Penny’s head snapped back and she crumpled to the ground, almost gracefully, only a few feet in front of them. All three Weasleys jumped at the sound of the gunshot then went very still.

Noise slowly came back to the world. The birds began to sing again, Mrs. Weasley called to them from the porch, Percy began to sob, Ginny murmured softly trying to comfort him. Harry’s hand shook as he put his gun away.

“Who was she?” he asked Ron as gently as he could.

“Penny….Penelope Clearwater,” he managed to choke out. “She lived down the road…”

That’s all he said. That’s all Harry needed. He watched as the rest of the family slowly crept out of the house to investigate the noise. At first there was just a clamoring about whether or not anyone was bitten. Then a wave of dismay and sorrow as Harry, by default, explained the situation.

Fred and George were uncharacteristically sober as they went to Percy and helped him stand. They gently led him back to the house, away from the carnage. Harry stood next to Ron and Mr. Weasley, watching them go, feeling an ache in his chest.


	9. Chapter 9

_Present (September, 1996)_

In Surrey there were no funerals. If someone died they died and only the family mourned, if that. There was so much death already that a single life was blown out without any ceremony.

Grief in the Burrow was tangible. It hung in the air and choked the joy from the entire house and the day went by slowly. Percy had shut himself away in his room the moment they got in the house. No one spoke, except for the quiet offering of tea and the equally quiet rejection or acceptance.

“They were seeing each other,” said Ron. “Percy and Penelope.”

Harry nodded, having come to that conclusion on his own. They sat quietly in the spare room Harry was sleeping in. Ron sat on the edge of the bed while Harry leaned against the wall in front of him.

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen someone I knew like that,” Ron wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, glaring at the ground. “I just froze up…”

“It’s alright, Ron,” Harry offered.

Ron shook his head, “If it had just been me and Ginny….I wouldn’t have been able to do it, Harry. How? How did you do it?”

For a moment Harry was silent. His mind was in Surrey running drills, stabbing knives through fake walkers, lined up at shooting ranges, fighting his classmates with his bare hands until he couldn’t be pinned.

“I was trained for it,” he finally said, running his fingers through his hair. “The camp I was in trained me for it.”

Ron dropped his head into his hands and let out a small groan.

“Did they train you to stop seeing their faces?” he asked miserably.

“No…” Harry shook his head. “If you figure it out can you let me know?”

Ron nodded and sighed heavily. They sat in the quiet for a few minutes, listening to the careful sounds of the Weasleys outside.

“Will you show me?”

“What?” Harry looked over at Ron who was now looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“Will you show me what they taught you in your camp?” he stood, hands jammed in his pockets. “I want to learn.”

Harry glanced at the door, “Your parents….I don’t know, Ron.”

“Please,” he begged. “I want to learn. I need to protect my sister.”

Harry felt a tug in his chest and he sighed softly.

“Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll do it. But we have to keep it quiet, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” Ron nodded adamantly, and for the first time since that morning, he smiled.

They made their training room in the catacombs. Ron cleared the second living room and put an extra rug down on the ground for padding. Harry felt a small thrill as he led Ron through the steps. There was something satisfying about teaching someone how to defend themselves. He thought, perhaps, it had to do with the fact that he’d be leaving soon. He didn’t want Ron to be defenseless again, and he hoped he would teach his siblings once he was gone.

“That’s it, Ron,” Harry said approvingly as Ron completed a drill. “With walkers, you have to go straight for the head. Don’t waste energy and time hitting their body, it won’t affect them unless you intend to hack off a limb.”

Ron looked at him, flushed and panting, but grinning widely, “Got it. Have you had to hack off a limb?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry shrugged. “Aim for the joints if you can but the older walkers have brittle bones so it’s pretty easy.”

Then they heard a sound on the stairs followed by a soft swear.

“Ginny?” Ron frowned and raced to the steps. “Bloody hell, were you _watching?”_

“I should learn too, Ron!” she came down the stairs, knife in hand. “I’m not going to sit by and let you _boys_ do everything.”

Ron started to protest but Harry interrupted, “I agree. Why don’t we see what you learned and spar Ron?”

Ginny went red and swallowed, glaring at a spot just over Harry’s left shoulder. She nodded stiffly and set her weapon on the table.

“Let’s go,” she danced on the balls of her feet and flexed her fingers. Her hazel eyes were electric. Ron smirked and cracked his knuckles, looking less afraid than Harry reckoned he ought. Ginny’s hands flew out and Ron was on the ground before any of them knew what happened.

There was a stunned silence and Ginny looked at her hands in surprise. Then she smirked and cocked an eyebrow.

“Okay, I wasn’t ready!” Ron leapt to his feet, blushing madly. “Go again!”

Harry leaned against the wall and laughed as they scrapped like devils, swearing and rolling around the floor, forgetting they were drilling and devolving completely into wrestling. 

They only stopped when they had both managed to get each other into a complicated hold and had to give up lest they pop something out of a socket.

“Perhaps more drills tomorrow?” Harry suggested as he heard the muted clatter of windows being covered.

“Alright,” Ron agreed, looking more like himself.

“Thank you, Harry,” said Ginny sincerely. She charged up the stairs, quickly responding to a call from Mrs. Weasley. Ron went to the bottom of the stairs and paused, waiting for Harry.

“Coming, mate?” he tipped his head when Harry didn’t follow.

“In a moment,” replied Harry, suddenly feeling a bit outside of himself.

Ron’s face pinched in a look he had come to realize was concern but he simply nodded and let him be.

Harry let out a heavy breath and ran his fingers through his already unruly hair. The air felt very tight all of a sudden. He wasn’t sure what triggered this. Maybe it had been the thought of Ron and Ginny in enough danger that they had to think of the best way to tear off a limb. The thought of this gentle family doing everything they can and still ending up like the Clearwaters.

His skin burned and all he could see was blood and teeth. He jerked up the sleeve of his flannel and looked at his scar for the first time in a long while. It wasn’t like a normal scar. Harry reckoned it was the virus that kept it from healing properly. It was mottled angry red and scar-white with perfect imprints of teeth on the edges. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe steadily, tried to come back down.

“Harry, did I leave my knife—” Ginny stopped short on the steps, a gasp catching the tail end of her sentence. Her eyes went wide as they landed on his arm.

“Harry…” she said breathlessly. Her hand fluttered to where her knife was usually kept, then realized it was lying on the coffee table.

“Ginny. Listen, it’s not what you think,” he quickly yanked his sleeve back down and put his hands up feebly.

“You were bitten.”

“I was.”

“When?”

“Years ago.”

Ginny recoiled, “ _Years?_ I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true,” Harry insisted. “I was bitten when I was eleven but I didn’t turn. That’s why I’m going to Hogwarts. Maybe they can find a cure.”

Ginny absorbed this, her face tight and untrusting. They sat in a tense silence for a long moment before she jerked her chin at him.

“Show it to me,” she demanded. A sick feeling turned in Harry’s stomach as she approached slowly. He had never willingly shown anyone his scar before. Actually he’d never shown _anyone_ his scar before. She didn’t speak as she studied it.

“Alright,” she finally said. “It’s obviously not a fresh wound so I won’t have to kill you.”

“How considerate.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell us?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Well. Yeah,” Harry admitted lamely. “I didn’t think it would be….safe.” 

“You didn’t trust us,” Ginny said it as simple sentence, nothing stinging in her tone but Harry still somehow felt accused.

“I don’t _know_ you,” he protested. “How would I know you wouldn’t do something crazy if I told you?”

“Harry, I wasn’t trying to hurt you, don’t be unkind,” Ginny’s gaze sharpened, striking him between the ribs.

A muscle in Harry’s jaw twitched and he looked at the floor, “Sorry.”

Ginny shook her head, slowly. Then she pursed her lips and sighed, “Oh Harry.”

“‘Oh Harry,’ what?” Harry felt his face go red and he shifted, crossing his arms tightly around himself.

“Nothing,” Ginny shifted her weight in a very quiet way. Something in her eyes had changed. There was something reverent as she looked at him. It made Harry squirm a bit.

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” he pleaded. “I’ll have to get going soon before the frost sets in anyway.”

Ginny’s face soured, “So you’re just going to leave?”

Harry thought very carefully about his reply, “What else would I do?”

“You could…” Ginny bit off the last of that sentence with a stinging look. “I won’t tell anyone. But you should at least tell Ron. He’s your friend.”

She turned sharply and stalked up the stairs, making a show of snatching her knife up as she left. Harry stood in the middle of the room, feeling odd and slightly ill. He considered that even if he’d had a plan, it would be quickly going awry.


	10. Chapter 10

_Camp Surrey (June, 1991)_

June descended lazily and without pretense. Muffled thunder rolled inside massive cumulonimbus as humidity pressed down and scudded in warm summer winds across the earth. There was static in the air as the threat of storm bore ever closer. Harry’s confinement had been lifted only slightly so that he was allowed an hour outside each day. This had only come to pass when he had taken to playing squashball in his room. Loudly.

Harry wasn’t a fan of school in the traditional sense of the word. His marks were average (sometimes below average) and he did have to face Draco and his rabble nearly every day. But it was easier there. Especially now that they’d begun defense training. He found that imagining Dudley’s face on the training dummies was a great way to relieve stress. He also found that he excelled in hand-to-hand. His small frame gave him the upper-hand when it came to speed and agility and people tended to underestimate him. He was happy to let them.

But when summer came, he was trapped with the Dursleys. Especially so now that he was grounded for eternity. His hour outdoors was all that kept him from going mad.

Half hidden under one of the bushes outside the living room window, Harry listened to the sounds of late evening; the Dursleys crabbily complaining about the heat and how frizzy it made Petunia’s hair. He was half asleep when he heard a clattering from Mrs. Figg’s followed by the yowling of a cat. He opened his eyes and sat up, gently brushing a spider from his shoulder.

The curtains were drawn over her windows and he didn’t see any movement inside. If Petunia heard the cat, the authorities would be called for sure. He stood and peeked into the Dursleys living room, checking the clock on the wall. He still had time.

“Mrs. Figg?” he cautiously opened the front door to the little flat. Jenny, her favorite tabby, streaked out, fur fluffed up. Harry felt a tug on his gut and watched as she disappeared into the bushes. Something wasn’t right.

He peered into the dim flat and slowly stepped inside. He pressed a hand to his belt, feeling the comforting shape of his knife under his shirt.

“Mrs. Figg?” he called again, a quieter this time. There was a thud from upstairs and Harry jumped. Maybe Jacks was stuck in the closet again. Maybe that was all. He tried to steady his shallow breathing as she crept up the stairs.

The first thing he noticed was the blood on the door. A smeared handprint leading into the bedroom. Harry’s heart was in his throat, rising quickly with the bile. He nudged open the bedroom door and what he saw made him heave. Mrs. Figg, or what used to be Mrs. Figg, was hunched over Jacks, fingers like claws scraping flesh into her mouth. When she heard the sound of Harry being sick, she turned. Her eyes had clouded over, dead and vacant. She snarled and stood, reaching for him as her slippered feet dragged across the carpet.

“No,” Harry whimpered, struggling with shaking fingers to free his knife from his belt. 

She was a foot from him before he found the strength to stumble back. His training came up in scrambled, fleeting thoughts. _Run, stand your ground, head, aim for the head, gun—no, knife, scream, quiet._ He yelped as his hip hit an end table, stumbling him and knocking him down the stairs. He toppled feet over head and hit the ground with a painful crash. His ears rang and his vision was swimming, blurry from the loss of his glasses.

Mrs. Figg was half as clumsy coming down, but she was faster than Harry would have thought because before he could even find his footing, she was on him. He screamed and tried to throw her off. Her mouth was covered in blood and her hands were slick with it as she reached for his face. Thunder crashed outside, adding to the cacophony of white noise and terror.

The pain of her teeth latching onto his arm was unlike anything Harry had ever felt. The rest of the struggle happened in snapshots. Too late, he remembered how to kick someone out and up, knocking her off of him. His knife was in his hand. His knife was in her head. He was outside, running, running. Slipping on the rain-slick concrete. He ran until the edges of his vision blackened and he was collapsing headfirst into an alley.

Harry awoke, shivering and soaked to the bone. Rain still poured down as he shakily sat up, weak and sore all over. Everything seemed fuzzy and muffled as he tried to get his bearings. It was pitch black out, save for the spotlights scanning the main streets. If he had to guess, it was hours past curfew. The searing pain in his arm slowly brought him back to himself. He let out a small wail of dismay as he peeled back his sleeve and took the first look at his bleeding wound. He uttered a soft swear and leaned against the alley wall.

Protocol dictated he turned himself in and let himself be….put down. For the good and safety of the camp. So he didn’t suffer. As soon as the fever set in…Harry closed his eyes and went over the list of symptoms in his head. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel feverish or nauseas. His vision, other than lack of glasses, was fine. He felt beat up and tired but otherwise, he felt normal. He had left Little Whinging in the late evening. Now it was well into the night. He should have been in agony, cells combusting in his brain, fever crashing his organs and suffocating him. He was cold, and he was sore, and he was tired. But he wasn’t dying.

He dragged himself to a little alcove, mostly sheltered from the rain. He was hopefully safe there. These days there were enough people out on the streets that no one would look twice at another huddled figure in the dark. And anyway, if no one had stopped to help him by now, the chances are no one would.

The thought of the virus coursing through his body made him weak and ill. Or maybe that was just the blood loss. He contemplated walking to headquarters where death would be guaranteed. He contemplated walking home where death would be threatened, even craved. Before he came to a decision, exhaustion put him right back to sleep.

 

_Present (September, 1996)_

Harry didn’t sleep that night. He stared at the pitch black ceiling with eyes as heavy as rocks but he refused to close them. In his mind’s eye he was running drills and double-checking his pack. He had to leave in the morning. He knew he should be sleeping, energy and all that, but he could always sleep on the road. He’d already been there two days and counting. If he was going to make it before the first snow…

He jumped out of bed and quickly tugged on his boots. Dawn would be coming soon and it’d be easier to slip away when the rest of the house was still in a deep sleep. Harry scribbled a quick note, thanking the Weasleys and apologizing for his hasty retreat, then he crept out of his room and went to leave it on the table.

“Morning, mate,” said a sleepy Ron. Harry jumped, his hand flying to his holster. Ron sat in a chair next to the front door, his feet propped up, arms crossed. “Thought you might run.”

There was a pause.

“Ginny told you,” Harry said flatly. The betrayal stung more than he thought it would.

“She got worried. She said you looked ready to bolt,” Ron stood and stretched. “Guess she was right.”

“Ron, I’m sorry,” Harry offered but it felt a bit lame now. “I just…I’ve got to go.”

“I know,” Ron nodded and lifted a backpack into view. “But you don’t have to go alone.”

Harry’s chest tightened and he fell back a step, “Ron, it’s dangerous.”

“So’s staying here, so’s going into town, the whole world is dangerous, mate,” Ron smirked and threw his backpack on, pulling the hood of his dark jacket on over his head. “And you have a better chance traveling with a friend.”

Harry was breathless for a moment. He heard a creak upstairs and his eyes flickered around the room before settling on Ron again. Ron, calling him a friend, ready to leave his home in the dead of night to travel into unknown territory.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, his resolve to leave him behind already out the door.

“I’ll take you out the safe way,” Ron grinned at him, leading him back to the stairwell. Harry followed, suppressing a grin himself. Ron led him into his own room and, after leaving a note a lot longer than Harry’s on his pillow, he removed the skylight from his ceiling.

“We’re climbing out _that?”_ Harry whispered, craning his neck to see up at the dark sky above.

“Scared of heights?” Ron expertly caught the rope ladder that fell down at him. Harry shook his head, not actually knowing if that were true or not. Ron gave the ladder a tug then began climbing.

“Did you tell Ginny you were leaving?” Harry after making a clumsy scramble after him.

“Are you mental?” Ron scoffed, hauling up the rope ladder behind them. “She’d want to come with us!”

It occurred to Harry that maybe having Ginny around wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world, but he kept that to himself.

“And anyway,” Ron continued as he shut the skylight, “it’d be safer with just us, don’t you think? Big groups attract too much attention.”

Harry shrugged in partial agreement. Ron nodded, fully agreeing with himself. Then he turned and looked over the edge of the house into the dark misty void below.

“So, what, do we just jump?” Harry glanced pensively at Ron.

“If you want to break both of your legs, be my guest,” said Ron after making an incredulous, and frankly, rude, noise. He then fished a crudely made rope ladder out of the rain gutter and threw it over the edge of the roof.

“We have to go one at a time but it usually holds,” he said looking up at Harry with a wild grin.

“Usually,” said Harry.

Ron shrugged and began his slow descent towards the lawn. Harry watched his breath cloud up the early morning air as he waited for the go-ahead from below. The grass field in front of the house was barren and grey with mist and the light of not-quite-dawn. The only movement was a faraway walker shambling silently into the distance.

“Harry!” Ron’s whisper reached him, sharp with annoyance. “Are you coming or what?”

“Yes, alright!” Harry hissed back and shuffled to the edge of the roof, very carefully lowering himself onto the ladder. What followed was a series of soft swears, violent swinging, and feet jutting out into empty air. Shaken, but not defeated, Harry hopped down from the last rung of the ladder and faced Ron’s snickering.

“Use a ladder much?” Ron stifled his laughter as he used a complicated looking rope and pulley system to haul the ladder back up into the rain gutter.

“Shut up,” Harry attempted a scowl but ended up snickering as he punched Ron in the arm.

The chilly dawn gave way to a chilly morning as they made their way through the quiet forest. The forest still clung to the green of summertime, but a few had already turned yellow and orange, eager to get on with the season.

“Y’know, it’s good the leaves haven’t fallen yet. It’d be hard to get anywhere quietly,” Ron observed, watching as Hedwig dove in and out of the branches, keeping an eye on them. Distracted, Harry merely grunted in response. There was a strange tickling at the back of his neck, the eerie feeling of being watched.

“Alright, Harry?” Ron stopped walking and looked behind them. “You hear something?”

Harry turned and peered into the woods behind them, squinting and searching for movement.

He shook his head, “Nothing. Lack of sleep I guess. We’ll stop somewhere for breakfast and get some rest in about an hour, yeah?”

The pair made good time and after scarfing down a bite to eat, Ron fell fast asleep in the dirt while Harry kept watch. They were nestled in a little clearing hidden amongst the overgrown foliage, Ron half under a bush, sleeping where he fell, and Harry leaning back against a small tree. He pored over his grungy map, bouncing his leg to keep himself from falling asleep. Numbers and distances whizzed through his head as he tried to calculate their speed of travel. Kilometers and hours and days and weeks. He rubbed his eyes, trying to lift the heavy film of sleep deprivation.

Not a second later, he heard the clumsy shuffle of the undead nearing their small campsite. Harry held his breath and made as if to stand until he saw the second, and then the third body moving aimlessly through the brush. In a forest, two on one was a rough fight. Three on one was a death wish. A total of four walkers surrounded them, unaware of their presence. At least for the moment. Harry crouched low in the bushes, his eyes barely coming up over the shrub in front of him. His heart hammered in his throat and he held tight to his bat.

He glanced down at Ron, who slept on peacefully. He prayed to the powers that be that he would stay asleep until they passed. And pass they did. Slowly, excruciatingly. But they passed and Harry finally let out a breath, feeling as though he’d been holding it the entire time.

“You alright?” Ron mumbled as he sat up, squinting against the light.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “It’s nothing.”

“Well it’s my turn for watch then,” Ron said, none the wiser.

Harry swallowed.

Ron wrinkled his nose, looking put off, “Don’t worry. I’ll wake you up if there’s trouble.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry grouched and flung himself into the grass. Ron grumbled quietly but Harry ignored it. They were both crabby and instigating a fight wasn’t going to help anyone. He closed his eyes and sleep overtook him in moments.

He slept for two hours.

He was also very angry when he woke up.

“I was only supposed to sleep for one hour,” he said as he gathered his things. “What if your parents caught up with us?”

“Please,” Ron scoffed, hiking up his backpack. “If they were going to find us, the twins would have already tracked us down. And besides, you’re the one who needs a clear head. I’ve only been five or so kilometers outside of the Burrow with Fred and George. We need you sharp."

He was not wrong.

Harry sighed, “You’re right. I’m sorry. The extra hour did help.”

He gazed up through the branches towards the sun. It was still morning, only about eight or so, but they had a long way to go before nightfall.

And so they went. Ron was an excellent travelling companion, Harry thought. He kept his voice low when he talked, watched his footing without being reminded, and kept a hand close to a weapon at all times. Pragmatic; a word he’d heard Percy use back at the house.

“D’you think they’ll be alright back at the Burrow?” Harry broached the subject cautiously. “You went out on runs a lot. Will they manage?”

“Of course,” Ron’s voice was light but his shoulders had hiked up to his ears. “It was about time they started sending Ginny out anyway. She’s smart and stuff. Mum doesn’t want her to because she’s a girl, but that doesn’t mean anything out here, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Harry agreed.

“She’ll be mad as a hornet when she finds out we’ve gone,” Ron continued. “Ginny, I mean. But Mum too.”

“I can only imagine,” Harry laughed dryly, his palms sweating with the memory of his aunt’s temper bearing down on him.

“What about your lot?” Ron asked, as delicately as Harry had asked about the Burrow. “Anyone looking for you?”

Harry thought for a moment but ultimately shook his head, “No, don’t think so.”

“Shame,” Ron said, and he meant it. But it didn’t really bother Harry that no one was looking for him. One less thing to worry about.

The he felt it again, a stutter of his heart, the feeling of his hair rising on the back of his neck. The animal instinct of being watched.

“Hello?” he stopped in his tracks and wheeled around. “Someone out there?”

Ron came to his side, trying to follow his gaze into the woods. They held their breath and watched the stillness, heartbeats in their ears. A minute passed and neither boy saw or heard anything unusual.

“You’re losing it, mate,” Ron clapped his shoulder, making him jump, then kept walking. Harry shook his head and followed.

“We should find the road soon. If you think your parents aren’t coming after us then it’d be easier to follow the highway,” Harry said.

“I’m surprised you’re not dead yet.”

“….I’m sorry?”

Ron looked at him with an air of superiority, “Everyone knows to stay off the main roads. That’s where the bandits are. And the most walkers.”

“But it’s more open,” Harry argued. “And it’s easier to map. There’s less likelihood of getting lost.”

“Okay but I know for a fact that Fred and George have set up traps all along the highway for about ten kilometers. I also have no idea where they all are.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“I’m not. So we should stay he—”

This is the part where Ron tripped and fell flat on his face.

Floored, Ron spat dirt and leaves and curses while Harry tried not to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” Ron’s face was red with smudges of dirt brown. He looked back to see what he’d tripped on and paled instantly. Harry briefly contemplated whether or not the sudden changes in color were good for his health, but then he saw the leg. It stuck out from some underbrush, and it was an odd mercy to discover it was also attached to a body.

“Dead walker,” Harry said, diffusing any unspoken horrors that may have been building up.

“Wanker couldn’t have died a bit to the left?” Ron said crossly, standing and dusting himself off.

“Don’t think he had much of a choice,” Harry replied and gestured around. Three more bodies surrounded the first. There had been one hell of a fight. Bushes were torn and there were huge gouges taken out of the nearby trees. Harry touched one of the gouges and studied the bodies in front of him. He recognized them from the walkers who had passed them only an hour before.

Ron swore quietly and looked around, drawing his gun “They might still be around, whoever did this.”

Harry was about to caution him against this when a voice spoke from behind.

“Well you’re not wrong.”

There was a small explosion as Ron discharged his gun into the dirt.

“Jesus Mary, Ronald!” Ginny covered her ears and glared at him. “What if you’d shot me?!”

“Don’t sneak up on a guy in a _forest!_ That’s like rule one, Gin!” Ron’s voice had reached catastrophic pitch and Harry nor Ginny felt like pointing that out while he still held his pistol.

“Sorry,” said Ginny mildly. “I didn’t see the gun until it was too late.”

“Secondly,” Ron held up an accusing finger (it was shaking,) “what are you doing here?”

“I heard you getting up this morning and I saw you leaving,” she replied, giving him a dirty look. “I must have missed my invitation.”

“You didn’t miss it you weren’t invited.”

Harry thought this was a good place to step in, “You followed us all this way? Why didn’t you say anything before?”

There was a wry twinkle in her eye as she looked at him, “I wanted to wait until it was too late for you guys to send me back.”

Harry looked at Ron, impressed.

Ron scowled.

“And you did this?” Harry gestured at the bodies around them. “By yourself?”

“I did. Yes, before you ask, it was fairly difficult, thank you,” she replied.

“How?”

“I climbed the tree and picked them off.”

“Wow,” said Harry at the same time as Ron said, “Typical.”

“So are we going?” Ginny hiked her backpack up and took a step, looking between them with light dancing in her eyes. Ron looked at Harry, looking exasperated.

“Well,” Harry mused, “it _is_ too late to send her back.”

Ron looked less than pleased but he didn’t argue, only looked broodingly around the forest.

Ginny glowed.


	11. Chapter 11

_Present (September, 1996)_

Of all the things Harry had been through, he’d never accidentally found a river before.

“I told you we should have taken the roads,” Harry called over to Ron over the edge of the map.

Ron made a rude gesture from his seat on a large, moss-covered rock. Harry shook his head then glanced over to where Ginny was throwing stones into the water as if it had offended her.

“Do we cross it?” she asked, turning to the boys as she wiped her hands on her jeans. “I don’t see _how_ unless we find a bridge.”

“We don’t need to cross it,” Harry replied, folding the map and shoving it into his pack. “We _need_ to find a road and follow it north.”

“Alright, alright!” Ron jumped up from his seat and threw his hands into the air. “Ron the idiot got us lost five seconds into the trip! I get it!”

Ginny let her head fall back as she groaned, “No one is calling you an idiot.”

“And we’re not lost,” Harry corrected, a bit more politely. “We’re just taking a detour. And there’s more hunting near the river anyway.”

Ron didn’t look completely appeased but he did look _less_ miffed, so they carried on. The trees around the riverbed were still summer green but the leaves had begun to fall anyway, making a carpet of red and brown. Round birch leaves fell slowly as the trio picked their way over rocks and washed up logs. It was midday on their second day of travel. The sun was out but ahead, dark grey thunderheads swept across the countryside. Harry reckoned it would be raining by nightfall.

“Careful of the river banks,” said Harry when he noticed Ginny and Ron getting a bit close to the edge of the water. “Walkers can’t swim but sometimes they get washed ashore and stuck in the mud. You wouldn’t want to get snagged.”

“Yikes,” Ginny took a few very meaningful steps away from the shore until she was next to Harry.

“So what’s like the scientific name for a zombie?” Ron galloped over, hardly as graceful as his sister. “Undeadius Zombius?”

Harry snickered, “I don’t think there is one. At least, not one that they told us about in school.”

“Well what did they teach you in school?” Ginny asked. “Besides how to kill things. Which, by the way, I still think is horrifying. Teaching a ten year old how to maim. Yuck.”

“Nah, we didn’t get to maiming until we were twelve,” Harry grinned and Ginny made a face at him. “And as for school I dunno…I mean, have either of you seen a clicker?”

“What’s that?” Ron asked.

“It’s a walker that’s been dead for years. It grows fungus all over its head until it can’t see anything. It uses echolocation, like a bat, to ‘see’ its surroundings,” Harry explained. “And they’re fast so once they hear you, they charge.”

Ginny chewed on her lip before speaking, “They die like normal though right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “They live mostly indoors, in damp places. I’ve only ever seen one up close before and I managed to sneak around it.”

He saw Ron swallow, “What else?”

“Um…There’s stalkers,” Harry hopped over a log and held his hand out to Ginny. She took it and gave it a grateful squeeze before letting go. “They wait in the shadows then jump out at you. They’re fast too. Hard to kill. Never seen one, though.”

“But maybe they’ve seen you,” Ron said ominously. Ginny’s face pinched deeply in revulsion. Harry looked mildly upset. Ron quickly recalibrated. “Kidding. Kidding. Sorry. Trying to lighten things up.”

“Anyway,” Ginny said coolly, “why are there such things as stalkers and clickers and stuff? I mean isn’t it all one virus?”

“They say it’s a mutation in the virus,” Harry replied, drawing up in sixth grade science notes from the depths of school years past. “That a few people had the mutation and they passed it on through the bite.”

“Walkers and stalkers and clickers, oh my,” Ginny sighed.

“Is that all? Are there infected animals too? Like zombie dogs?” Ron asked.

“Not so far,” Harry replied. “There are only carriers.”

“So try not to get bitten by anything at all ever, got it,” Ron said darkly.

“Yeah, that’s the long and short of it,” Harry smiled wryly.

“Shit would be fucked, wouldn’t it?” Ginny said eloquently. “If we got bitten by a mosquito and turned walker?”

“That reminds me,” said Ron, snapping a twig off of an unsuspecting tree, “next time I’m asleep and a score of the undead come marching by, d’you mind actually waking me up?”

Harry winced, “Right. Good call. But for the record, it was nowhere near a score.”

Ron scoffed and hopped over a rotting log. All at once, his gaze sharpened and he stopped in his tracks, a pinch appearing between his eyes as he focused more closely on their surroundings.

“Alright, Ron?” Ginny slowed her pace and looked backwards at him.

“Harry, can I see the map?” he asked a bit suddenly.

“Er, sure,” Harry dropped his pack and pulled the map out. Ron strode purposefully to a particular tree that had a notch whacked out of it then opened the map, swiveling slowly until he faced, Harry guessed, eastward. Ginny and Harry shared a glance, mirrored looks of confusion on their faces.

“I think I have an idea,” said Ron, pointing deeper into the trees. “There’s an old bloke who lives a few kilos east of here. He has loads of supplies, weapons, survival and camping gear. And I think he might even have a car.”

“A car?” Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Are you sure?”

“Well what’s the harm in trying?” Ron folded the map and handed it back. “And we’d get north twice as fast with less chance of being eaten in our sleep.”

“He has a point,” Ginny interjected. “But at the same time, Ron, what makes you think he’s just going to give us a car?”

“Well he sort of owes us, ‘us’ being Fred and George and me, a favor,” Ron replied. “I’m sure he’s good for it.”

“Harry?” Ginny turned to him. “It’s your call.”

Harry mulled this over for a moment. Ron did have a point. It would be faster and safer to get a car and drive the rest of the way north. And there weren’t enough ‘buts’ to warrant an actual argument.

“Okay,” Harry nodded. “Lead the way, Ron.”

Ron grinned, but before he could take a step Hedwig flew out of the deep green of the forest like a bat out of hell. Assuming there were rain showers in hell because she was absolutely soaked as she landed on Harry’s shoulder.

“Awe, Hed!” Harry leaned away as she shook out her wings.

“Why’s she all wet?” asked Ginny, standing clear of the splash radius.

“It must be raining somewhere nearby,” Ron speculated, looking up as the dark clouds converged overhead. The sunny day had turned much more quickly than Harry anticipated.

“He’s right,” he agreed. “We should find shelter before we find—sorry what was your friend’s name?”

“Alastor Moody,” said Ron. “We also call him Mad-Eye because….well, you’ll see.”

“Excellent. Shelter though, boys?” Ginny shrugged on a flannel, shivering as the wind picked up. Harry was already scanning the area for just that. They were in for a hell of a storm and priority one was getting away from the river. He’d already seen the twigs and leaves and dried mud that stuck to the trees at knee height. Many of England’s dams had fallen into disrepair over the years, cracking and bursting, causing floods and swelling. From the looks of it, there had been a flood once before, there was a good chance there would be another. There was also a good chance it was already too late to get out of the way.

Harry expressed all this to Ginny and Ron and they exchanged worried looks.

“We’ll be fine but we need to get to high ground,” Harry turned towards the forest and headed inland, the Weasley siblings following close behind. It began to drizzle, then rain, then pour. The ground became slick with mud and the wind slapped branches in their faces.

It was Ron who spotted the cave first.

It was actually more of small outcropping of rocks and tree root and it hardly looked safe considering the weather. There was a small, muddy waterfall they had to duck under but the trio managed to squeeze in.

“Well this will have to do,” Ginny said through chattering teeth. Her hair was plastered to her face and neck and her nose was red from the cold. Harry reckoned that he looked more like a drowned rat but he pushed the horrific image out of his mind. He put his glasses on top of his head; they were rendered useless with the rain and the fog created by the heat that was rapidly leaving his body.

“So we just wait?” Ron looked at Harry, visibly shivering. “I’ve never been out in weather like this before.”

“Well this won’t do long-term,” Harry peered out at the blurry forest. “I can go look for something more permanent.”

“Alone?” Ginny looked between Harry and the storm outside. “I don’t think so.”

“I can’t very well watch over you two _and_ look for shelter _and_ avoid getting eaten by whatever else is out there,” Harry said crabbily.

Ginny’s eyes crackled, “We’re not helpless, Harry. Sooner or later you’re going to have to trust us.”

Without another word, she left the cave and plunged into the rain.

“If you’re done being arrogant,” Ron said and went after her. 

"I didn't mean-- ugh," Harry slapped his mostly useless glasses back on with a grumble and went after them.

It rained hard for over an hour. They had to shout at each other just to be heard over the din. Unsurprisingly, fighting walkers was significantly harder in a hurricane, and they happened to run into several of them. Both parties slid uncontrollably in the mud as they attacked. Harry came the closest to being bitten. He was fighting what used to be a nurse when he found himself ankle-deep in a foxhole. His ankle bent in a way ankles were not meant to bend and he fell, losing his grip on his bat when he flung out an arm to catch himself and caught a log instead.

The walker fell with him, its fingernails scratching his face and neck. Harry cried out and tried to throw it off. Memories of Little Whinging flashed in front of his eyes like lightning. Its rotten skin sloughed off in his hands and panic pulsed dark at the edges of his vision as it snapped its teeth at him. There was a sudden explosion of sound and the weight was thrown from him.

Harry sat up quickly and saw Ginny standing a few feet away. She was shock white and covered in gore and mud. Her stance was too wide, her shoulders hiked up to her ears. Her fear was palpable and Harry was surprised she hadn’t hit him with the way her hands were shaking.

“Ginny?” Harry stood slowly, his ankle throbbing when he put even the slightest pressure on it.

Ginny’s eyelids fluttered faintly and her face cleared. She lowered her gun, if only slightly.

“Alright, Harry?” she whispered, her lips slowly coming back to color.

“Cracking,” he managed a thin smile. “Care to lend me a hand?”

He gestured awkwardly to his injured leg as he held his foot carefully above the ground. She nodded woodenly and put her gun back in its holster.

“Where’s Ron?” she asked when she reached him, retrieving his bat.

“I was just about to ask you,” Harry felt a knot of panic twisting in his stomach and he began to look around frantically.

“ _Ron?!_ ” Ginny shouted.

“ _What?!_ ” Ron shouted back in the same tone and volume.

He appeared some distance away, looking about as rough as the other two put together.

“Where did you go?” Ginny demanded, lending Harry her shoulder as they walked over to meet him.

“Fell down the hill,” he winced and rolled out his shoulder. “Lucky I did though. I think I found a place to stay.”

Ron led them to a strip of asphalt that became a pretty shitty road. But a road nonetheless. At the bottom of the hill, about a mile off, was what looked like a petrol station. It was slow going with the rain and Harry’s bad ankle, but mercifully there was only one walker near the station when they reached it and Ron quickly took care of it.

Once they removed the body, the station was empty. Its undisturbed, dust caked floors suggested no one had set foot in the place in quite a long time. The shelves were barren, making them a good clothes-drying place. There were a few leaks in the roof but they were easily avoidable and the rain was slowing anyhow.

“Easy,” Ginny slowly lowered Harry to the floor. “Let’s have a look at that ankle now.”

Harry cried out as she started to take off his boot.

“Sorry,” she winced. “But also, don’t be a child.”

Harry chuckled dryly, “Well if it’s broken, jostling it will only make it worse.”

“Please,” Ginny said mildly, sounding very much like Molly, “it was plenty jostled on the way down that hill.”

Harry scowled and screwed his face up through the pain as she took off his sock.

“Hm.”

It was a very short, perturbed sound that made Harry pinch the bridge of his nose, almost afraid to look. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, when he did look up. It was red and swollen with a dark bruise blossoming on the outside of his foot.

“Ron, c’mere,” Ginny waved him over. Harry watched Ron, now shirtless, walk over curiously.

“That doesn’t look broken, does it?” she whispered unsurely over his ankle, as if Harry weren’t at the end of it.

“I don’t think so. It looks sprained though. We should splint it,” Ron pawed through Harry’s backpack. “Is it alright if I tear up this shirt for a splint?” Ron held up one of Harry’s t-shirts.

“Haven’t we got any gauze?” Harry asked, hating to see one of his few possessions torn to shreds.

“Yeah but…” Ron hesitated, trying to tread carefully.

“What if one of gets shot and we used all the gauze on a non-flesh wound? Something that won’t get infected?” Ginny said pointedly.

Harry ducked his head, “Right. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Ron assured him, tearing the shirt into strips.

He made quick work of wrapping Harry’s ankle. It wasn’t perfect but he took such care with it, and with teaching Ginny, that Harry couldn’t bring himself to correct him. When that was done, they sat in a small circle to discuss their next move before they all caught a fever.

“I can’t walk,” Harry admitted ruefully as he bandaged the last of the scratches on his face. “At least not until tomorrow. Are you two alright with camping out here?”

It was only late afternoon. With the rain letting up, they should have had hours more for travel. But Harry knew that if he damaged his ankle more, they would be worse off than if they were a little behind. And after all, they were all a little shaken.

“Sure,” Ron looked out the window, obviously eager to be moving but he managed to sit still.

“Ginny?” Harry looked at her for confirmation. When he did, Ginny was staring at him, a nameless grief in her eyes.

“Ginny?”

She stood very suddenly, “I’m going to bed. I absolutely cannot stand being in these wet clothes a second longer.”

“Alright, weirdo,” Ron gave Harry a questioning look. Ginny didn’t so much as roll her eyes as she marched over to the back storeroom and shut the door.

“What did you do to her?” Ron asked, stripping down to his shorts now that Ginny was gone.

“Nothing,” Harry started to peel off his jacket, realizing he was also dripping. After some thought, he glanced at Ron. “Has Ginny ever shot anything before?”

Ron was quiet as he set up his sleeping arrangements.

“I don’t think so,” he murmured. “I mean we’ve all killed a chicken or two and then there’s whacking those undead fuckers, but…..I can’t say she’s ever used a gun. I don’t know why she’s freaked out. It’s just a gun.”

Harry didn’t quite agree. Once upon a time, things like bats and crowbars and other makeshift weapons were meant for other things; as a game or a tool. Nowadays they served as protection as well as their original uses. Guns, however, were only ever meant for killing. Harry was acutely aware that if Ginny had been even a few inches off, they would have needed a lot more than gauze. His first kill with a gun still haunted him too.

“We should get some rest,” Harry said, lying back on the disgusting floor to stare at the ceiling. “We’ll start for Mad-Eye’s first thing in the morning.”

“Yeah. Gnight mate,” Ron threw himself down an aisle over. A second later he hollered, “Gnight Ginny!”

“Gnight,” Ginny called from the back room.

It seemed like only seconds before Ron began snoring softly. Harry listened to the sounds of the drizzle outside and willed his mind into quietness.

All too soon, Harry was torn from sleep by the sound of breaking glass. He jerked himself awake, grappling blindly for a weapon.

“I told you using that wouldn’t dull the noise,” Ron said from the far side of the station.

“Huh,” Ginny was perched on top of a shelf under a broken window the size of the shoebox.

Harry ducked back behind the shelves and quickly put on a shirt and pants. Thankfully, they were dry but it’s not like he would have had much of a choice anyway. After making himself decent, he slowly stood to get a better look at the fracas.

“Well, good morning.”

Ron stood under the window nudging bits of broken glass out of the beginnings of a campfire.

“Morning, Harry,” Ron greeted him pleasantly. “We were trying to let you sleep but we needed to create some ventilation so we didn’t, you know, suffocate and die.”

“That was smart,” Harry nodded as he limped over. Ginny hopped down beside him, a bat wrapped in a sweater dangling from her hand.

“Fred lied,” she sighed woefully, picking glass shards out of the sweater.

“Shocking,” said Ron, smirking.

Harry chuckled and lowered himself close to the fledgling fire as it snapped to life.

“How’s the ankle?” Ginny asked. Needlessly, because she was already unwrapping the makeshift splint. Harry cringed, the bruising had deepened but at least the swelling had gone down.

“Well I’m not a doctor,” Ginny wrinkled her nose, “but I can confidently say that it looks very painful.”

“Excellent diagnosis, thank you,” Harry laughed. After poking the fire far more than strictly necessary, Ron joined them on the floor while a can of soup slowly warmed.

“After breakfast we should pack up and leave,” Harry said looking out the dirty glass doors.

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked. “We could rest some more. Just to mind your ankle.”

“We can’t,” Harry shook his head. “There’s no time. We already lost half a day and September is almost over. If we’re not there by the time the frost sets in, our chances of surviving the winter are…very small. At least with this detour to Mad-Eye’s, we have a better chance.”

Ginny looked at Ron and they seemed to have a silent argument. Finally Ron shrugged in that noncommittal way he had and turned back to the soup.

“Whatever you say, boss,” he said. 

Ginny also looked less than thrilled but she begrudgingly agreed. With that matter settled, Harry stood and quietly excused himself, making his way to the door. Even with the broken window, the station was stuffy and smelled like mildew and smoke.

Having gone to bed so early the day before, they had all woken very early and outside was still cold and dark. Everything was quiet and the whole world was doused in the blue light of early morning. Harry’s amber skin was silver-blue in the grey mist as it danced in the chilly breeze.

Hedwig hooted hauntingly from the roof of the petrol station, looking ghost white against the gloom. Harry followed her gaze down the road, squinting to try and make out a shape in the fog. There was not a sound or movement to speak of and after several long moments, Harry let out a breath and turned to go back into the station.

As they ate their breakfast, Harry felt a spring of warmth well up inside of him. It was a comfort having Ron and Ginny. Watching them throw things back and forth and gently tease each other, was everything Harry had ever wanted but never admitted. Keeping up with their banter was a bit difficult at first. He kept expecting them to get angry at him whenever he joined in on the teasing. But they always laughed it off , even goading him on into another sarcastic remark.

“And then what?” was one of Ginny’s favorite comebacks.

“Fuck off,” followed by a friendly punch was Ron’s.

Morning gave way to midday and the trio had made surprisingly good time given Harry’s ankle. The chilly snap of autumn was a concern. Until then, the days had been mild, but now, with the sun hidden behind sluggish clouds, Ron, Ginny, and Harry each wordlessly added a layer of clothing.

At about two they saw the steady rise of buildings in the distance as they approached a small town.

“Watch your step when we get inside the city,” Ron advised. “The twins picked up a lot of their tricks from Mad-Eye.”

“The whole place, can’t be booby trapped,” Ginny arched an eyebrow.

“You’d be surprised,” said Ron with a smile. “For all I know, the man ha been alone here doing nothing but setting up traps and finding new ways to kill things.”

“How creative,” Harry smirked.

“How barmy,” said Ginny. “You’re certain he won’t just kill us on sight?”

There was an extended and meaningful silence and Harry felt a sigh building up inside of him.

Then Ginny threw her head back and laughed.

“Wow,” she said. “One of us is going to get shot today.”

She finished her manic little giggle with a sigh and a helpless shrug to Harry, who couldn’t help but smile.

“This will certainly be interesting,” Harry clapped Ron on the back and shook his head. “But on the bright side, we’ll go out with a bang.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Ron chuckled.

The edge of the town was surrounded by a wire fence for as far as they could see. The top was laced with snares of barbed wire that looked like they were put up by hand.

“So,” Ron pulled out a pair of wire cutters and gazed up at the barbed wire, “volunteers?”

Harry and Ginny glanced at each other then simultaneously assumed Rock, Paper, Scissors stance. After Ginny handed Harry his own ass (he shouldn’t have thrown scissors), he found himself at the top of the fence trying to hack away at enough barbed wire to create an opening to climb through. That was a lot easier said than done considering the wire cutters were dulled almost the second he cut through the first bit. And second of all, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum were no help whatsoever.

“You got it, Harry!”

“Yes, good show Harry, well done!”

“Will you both shut it?” Harry shouted, followed by a yelp of laughter as Ginny poked him with a stick.

“Hurry up, mate!” she and Ron cackled from below. His forearm was on fire as he cut through the bit he was working on. He covered his hand with the end of his sleeve and pulled the barbed wire away like a gate.

“Alright, you assholes,” Harry looked down at the Weasley’s grinning faces. “One at a time.”

Ron went first (he shouldn’t have thrown scissors), shaking the fence so hard on his way up that Harry felt seasick. Ginny came up after Ron hit the ground on the other side and she held the barbed wire back for Harry as he crossed over. Squeezing past Ginny was an awkward endeavor. The urge to touch her as little as possible and the equally strong, conflicting, urge to accidentally brush against her was unbelievable. In the end, he accidentally elbowed her in the collarbone.

“Oaf,” Ginny winced and her voice was friendly enough. But she let the barbed wire snap back into place a little too close to Harry’s head so he wasn’t sure whether or not to be threatened.

“So where do we find this guy?” Harry asked, after sticking the landing despite his throbbing ankle.

“He has a sort of base in the center of town,” Ron replied, hacking his way through some bushes. “But I reckon he’ll find us first.”

“That’s not ominous,” Ginny squinted around the jumble of dilapidated buildings. “Which way’s the center?”

“This way,” Ron jutted his chin in a vague direction and led the way through the weeds. “Keep your heads down.”

Harry and Ginny shared a glance then pulled up their hoods. Ron flipped them off.


	12. Chapter 12

_Present (September, 1996)_

The suffocating pressure of the city was unearthly, giving the journey a considerable shift in tone. Ron took the lead, carefully picking his way through alleys and side streets, keeping clear of any main roads.

“He really lives here all by himself?” Harry whispered. Whispering seemed to be the proper thing to do in a place like this. Dry weeds sprouted from cracks in the pavement, garbage and rubble littered every inch of ground, and there was an oppressive silence that sucked away even the smallest signs of life.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. “At least, he’s been alone every time I’ve visited.”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“It’s fine,” Ron said unconvincingly. Ginny snorted and Harry smirked at her. There was a small shuffle from the building to his right and out of curiosity he cautiously peered into the darkened window.

And nearly lost an eye.

A walker threw an arm out from the inside, very narrowly missing Harry. Harry yelped and stumbled backwards, flailing for a weapon.

“Harry!” Ron’s shout was feral as he grabbed Harry’s arm and hauled him back. By that time the walker—scratch that, the _clicker_ had sprung from the building and was charging at the trio, its bloated, fungus covered head emitting a terrifying and grotesque howl. Ginny screamed and Ron fired his gun three times before the thing was dead.

“Holy shit,” Ron stood over it, looking a bit green. “Was that a clicker?”

“Yeah,” Harry cringed, trying not to look too long at the pulpy, fungus-y mess.

Ginny made herself scarce and the boys could hear her be sick around the corner.

“Ugly bastard,” she said when she came back, a pasty shade of grey as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t lying,” Harry handed Ginny the water flask. She accepted it gratefully, looking a little embarrassed.

“Shall we move on?” Harry asked, stepping around the clicker corpse.

They did.

Harry was deep within his own thoughts as they skirted the bowels of the city, wondering how one person could sustain themselves alone in a city like this and if one day he’d be able to follow suit. 

He glanced at Ginny. 

Well. Perhaps not alone. 

And then suddenly Ron was pulling him sharply by his hood, nearly choking him. He worried, for a brief panicked moment, if he had said something incriminating out loud.

“Watch your step, mate,” Ron pointed ahead, crouching a bit to match eyelines with Harry. It took him a moment but then he squinted and saw the glint of a silver wire suspended at knee height in the entryway to an alley. It was attached to what looked like a tin can full of nails.

“It’s a tin can full of nails,” Ginny said flatly and Harry had to hold back a snicker.

“It’s bomb is what it is,” Ron replied. “Move back.” 

Harry and Ginny shared a look then took several exaggerated steps back. When they were at what Ron assessed to be a safe distance, he raised his gun and, before Harry or Ginny could say anything, shot the bomb.

It exploded with a much stronger force than Harry expected. It sprayed bits of metal and nails, embedding them into the brick walls. 

“Wow,” Ginny wandered over to the still smoking hole in the wall. “Effective.”

Harry clapped Ron on the back, a bit too stunned for words, but grateful he hadn’t been turned into mush.

“You know where we’re going, right?” Ginny asked wearily as they took another random turn. Ron said something rude and Ginny mocked him and Harry laughed. Everything seemed as it should be.

“Let’s cut through this warehouse,” Ron said, nodding to a big dilapidated warehouse to the right. It had maybe two walls left standing and on one of them was a faded advertisement for a luxury car.

“Seems promising,” Harry commented as he pushed open the already ajar door. There was a godawful scraping sound and Harry’s feet flew out from under him.

“Harry!” Ginny and Ron shouted as he hung several feet off the ground. He swore and swung around a few times before Ron and Ginny could steady him. The world was upside down and, since his glasses flew off from the force of his sudden upturning, quite blurry.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see the trap until it was too late!” Ron cried. He looked apologetic for a few seconds but he was already starting to snicker. Ginny was almost weeping with laughter.

“Alright, alright,” Harry sigh, more exasperated than anything. “I’m not hurt but can you both figure out a way to get me down?”

They were useless with laughter for longer than Harry would have liked but it was a bit hard to sulk upside down. Ginny and Ron finally stopped laughing and dried their eyes.

“There’s a fridge on the other side of the warehouse, I think that’s the counterweight,” said Ginny, pointing across the way, still giggling.

“I’ll take care of it,” Ron pulled out his hunting knife and hurried over to the fridge.

“I’ll….watch Harry, I guess,” Ginny watched Ron then looked back at Harry. “You look better upside down.”

“Thank you?” Harry laughed. “Mind finding my glasses for me?”

Ginny smirked and looked down, rooting through the overgrown weeds until she found them. She froze with them in her hand, looking strung tight as a bow string.

“Did you hear that?” she asked in a low voice.

“Hear what?” Harry breathed, straining his ears.

Several shrieks pierced the air and Harry saw bobbing shapes appear in the distance.

“It never ends does it?” Harry reached out and Ginny quickly slapped the glasses into his hand, taking out her gun.

“Ron, I hate to rush you but…” Ginny called to her brother.

“Almost…done…” Ron grunted and the fridge fell the last few feet and hit the ground. That only succeeded in pulling Harry even higher above the floor. “Whoops. I’ve got it I swear!”

“Hurry!” Ginny fired a shot and killed one of the forerunners. “Please!” She added.

Harry could only try his best at this point. The sudden jerk on the rope had sent him swinging again and there were only so many bullets to spare.

“Ron, come on!” he shouted.

Ginny shoved her gun into the holster and pulled out her bat, “I’ve only got six bullets left.”

“Ginny, wait!” but she was already throwing herself into the fray. Watching her fight wasn’t anything like Harry thought it would be. He expected a dance. But she fought and killed with sharp, succinct severity. If he had time to be astonished he would have been but a clicker came flying out of left field and latched onto him. It took every ounce of strength to keep it from biting him. He heard Ron swear and there was a snap. The ground came up to meet him and he only had seconds to shift his grip before the clicker lunged for him again. Someone shot and missed, a bullet hole exploding near his ear. In a manic, fleeting moment of rotten teeth and eyeless sockets, Harry realized he was, in all likelihood, about to die.

Then blood and fungus exploded down on him. A machete swung down for another hack and it took the zombie head with it. Harry gagged and choke, rolling onto his side, away from the corpse. When he looked up, a man with an eye-patch stood over him, looking furious at his very existence.

“Who the _hell_ are you?” he demanded, pointing the tip of his machete in Harry’s face.

“H-Harry! I’m Harry!” he held up his hands helplessly.

“Moody!” Ron jogged over, looking drawn but pleased to see him. “It’s me. He’s with me.”

Ron narrowly escaped decapitation as Moody took a swing at him.

“Hey!” Ginny snarled, swinging back. She managed to catch him off guard the first time, knocking his machete across the room. But on the second swing, Moody caught the bat in one huge hand and snapped it out of her grip, using the end to butt her in the stomach. Ginny let out a small, breathless cry and fell to her knees.

Enraged, Harry sprang up from the ground, ignoring Ron’s pleas for peace, and threw himself onto Moody’s back. His arms were around his neck in a chokehold before he could blink. Moody tried to throw him off but Harry was nothing if not scrappy. He held on. Moody hacked and wheezed and fell. Harry’s rage was so white hot that he might have killed him if Ron hadn’t pulled him off.

“Will you lot calm the _fuck down!_ ” he was nearly screaming. Everyone was breathing heavily, glaring at each other. Mad-Eye caught his breath and grumbled sourly, getting stiffly to his feet. Harry was surprised when he leaned heavily on an old oak walking stick (it was more of a staff really), he even felt a little bad about choking him.

“You daft, reckless, idiots,” he rubbed his throat. “You come into _my_ city. Set off all my traps and send every piece of shit walker in the area straight here and now you expect a cuppa and a warm welcome?”

He spat on the ground. Ginny scowled.

“You could have at least tried to kill us _after_ tea,” Ron said, obviously straining to remain calm. Harry carefully crossed to Ginny and helped her to her feet, keeping a close eye on Moody. “We came because we need help.”

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” said Mad-Eye. He retrieved his machete using the staff to get around, all the while swearing up a storm.

Ron planted himself in front of Moody, “You owe me and the twins, remember? You would have died that winter if it weren’t for us.”

This sobered Mad-Eye, if only a little. He scowled, sighed, and looked up at the sky as if in prayer. The sounds of more undead were slowly trickling towards them but Moody didn’t seem bothered. He looked at the three of them.

“Follow me,” he grumbled reluctantly before turning and making for the street. Harry looked between Ginny and Ron. Ron set his jaw and nodded, following Moody. Ginny laughed in disbelief, shaking her head.

“We’re not going to die here,” Harry assured her.

She looked at him, uncertainty sharpening her gaze, but when she spoke, her voice was steady.

“We’re sure the hell not.”

Harry nodded and they took off after Ron and Mad-Eye.

“Hurry!” Ron doubled back to meet them halfway. He took Ginny’s hand and led the way to an alley where Moody was already climbing up a fire escape.

“Can you make it?” Ginny looked at Harry. “Your ankle…”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he nodded. Ginny looked worried but Harry quickly turned his back to keep an eye on the street. _Focus…focus,_ he reminded himself. He didn’t shoot any walkers until he absolutely had to, for fear gunfire would draw even more towards them. He was able to take out three before it was his turn to climb up the ladder. He raced to the top behind Ron and Ginny, grouping up with Mad-Eye on the roof.

“Hope you’re not afraid of heights,” was all Moody said. 

Harry, again, took the rear, his ankle causing an unfortunate limp. It was hard following Moody. His heavy, awkward gait tended to set the more precarious catwalks swinging.The sun hung low in the sky as they crept along the catwalks, some of them sturdier than others. There was a mutual silence between them and the cries and yowls of the living dead eventually faded behind them. The city returned to silence and they all breathed a sigh of relief.

“Was it a mistake?” Ron turned to Harry, looking defeated, exhausted. “Coming here?”

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek, “Maybe. But we could still get the car.”

Ron nodded glumly.

“The whole world is dangerous, Ron,” Harry said as comfortingly as he could. “We’ll be fine.”

His friend brightened a little. Ginny fell back to join them as well.

“What are we whispering about?” she asked. “Are we going to kill the old stodger?”

“I heard that,” Mad-Eye looked back at them, scowling.

“She was kidding, Moody,” Ron rolled his eyes at her.

Moody crossed over to one last roof and went to a padlocked door. With furtive glances at one another, Harry, Ginny, and Ron descended the stairwell. Once Moody closed the door behind them, it was pitch black. He mumbled something that might have passed as an apology as he brushed past them to get to the next, similarly padlocked door. Light flooded in from the room ahead and they found themselves in a dirty makeshift apartment.

Mad-Eye threw down his pack and pointed his gun at the three of them, “Against the wall you three.”

“Moody, come on,” Ron sighed and went to the wall as if he’d done it a thousand times, gesturing for the others to follow. “We’re clean.”

“No bites? Nothing sprouting?” he got very much in Ron’s personal space, checking him over.

“No bites,” Ron confirmed. “And oi, keep your grubby fucking hands off my sister.”

Moody grunted, giving Ginny a bit more space than he did Ron and Harry.

“Fine,” he nodded and backed off, throwing his pack and gun to the floor. “Now tell me what the hell you want, Weasley.”

Moody collapsed into an old armchair and set to work unstrapping something at his knee. Ron gave Ginny and Harry an apologetic look and seconds later Moody’s leg hit the floor with a solid _thunk._ Ginny averted her eyes with a soft _oh._ Harry just raised his eyebrows. That explained the staff.

“Made ‘er myself,” said Mad-Eye, meaning the leg apparently. “Now. Speak, boy.”

“We’re going north and we need…a car,” Ron said reluctantly.

Moody threw his head back and laughed. When Ron didn’t join in, he rubbed a hand over his face.

“Weasley, if I had a car, why the flaming hell would I give it to a bunch of teenagers?” he took a swig from a flask.

“Because you owe me and we need it,” Ron’s face colored. “It’s important.”

There was a pause and Moody studied him, “And? What’s north?”

Ron glanced at Harry, who gave a small shake of his head. Moody caught it and pointed a thick finger in his direction.

“You. You’re not a Weasley,” he said.

“Brilliant deduction,” Harry replied acidly.

Moody chuckled, “Fair. What’s your story?”

“Story?”

“Where did you come from? How do you know the Weasleys?”

Harry didn’t speak. On the one hand, he didn’t feel like sharing his life story with someone who had just assaulted him and his friends. But on the other hand, they needed the car and he had a sneaking suspicion Moody would know if he were lying.

“I was in Surrey where I learned of a camp in the north that seemed like a good place to be,” he said carefully. “Ron found me on the road.”

“So you left the safe womb of Surrey to cross an entire country? That’s a big ‘just because’ journey,” Moody rubbed the stubble on his face. “You look familiar. Who are your parents?”

“I…don’t know them,” Harry admitted. “They died when I was a baby.”

Moody narrowed his eye at him, the lines on his face deepening.

“Moody, come on,” Ron stepped forward, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Do you have a car or not?”

“I have a car,” Mad-Eye tore his gaze from a very uncomfortable Harry. “But the battery is shot. It needs a new one.”

“And?” Ginny expertly raised an eyebrow.

“ _And_ the only viable battery is stuck in a bus by the old school,” he said. “Theoretically, if I had it, I could put it in the car I have.”

“Alright, that settles it,” Ron clapped his hands. “We’ll go get it.”

“Not so fast,” Moody sighed and sank deeper into his chair. “Light’s going. We’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow.”

There was a bump from a nearby wall and they all turned towards the sound.

“Is someone else here?” Ron asked, drawing his gun.

“Yes,” Mad-Eye said nonchalantly. “An associate of mine. Wasn’t sure we could trust you. You can come out now.”

That last statement was directed over their heads. A bookshelf scraped away from the wall and a figure stepped out. She couldn’t have been any older than Harry. She was small and sturdily built, black with massive curls scraped away from her face into a high ponytail, and wide eyes set above high cheekbones. There was a quiver of arrows strapped to her back and one knocked in her bow.

“Moody?” she approached cautiously, eyeing everyone in the room.

“Everyone, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, everyone,” Moody gestured vaguely.

“ _She_ is your _associate?_ ” Ron scoffed, unimpressed.

“And who are _you?_ ” Hermione narrowed her eyes, honing in on Ron. “Were you the one setting off all those traps?”

“Well I—”

“How moronic. You must not know your way around here very well,” she put her arrow away, obviously no longer threatened.

“Excuse m—”

“Moody, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to go down to the school,” Hermione walked past Ron before he’d finished speaking. “You know what it’s like down there.”

“What’s it like?” Ginny asked politely.

Hermione looked at Ginny then back at Moody, seeming somewhat uncomfortable, “Infested. Spores, clickers, stalkers, the whole mess.”

That seemed to shake Ron’s confidence.

“Miss. Granger, if I had wanted your input I would have asked for it,” said Mad-Eye. “Now, we’re all going to have some tea and supper. Is that alright by you?”

Hermione glowered at the floor, mouth pinched shut.

“Very well,” Moody strapped his leg back on and set about preparing tea on a what looked like a handmade stove. Ron, Ginny, and Harry very slowly lowered their backpacks, unsure as they hadn’t exactly been given instructions.

“I’m Ginny Weasley,” Ginny approached Hermione, looking a little cautious. “And this is my brother Ron, and our friend Harry.”

Hermione took a long, deep breath, then turned to them, taking her time sizing them all up, “Pleasure.”

Her eyes settled on Ron and her head tipped almost dangerously. Harry shuddered, hoping to never be on the business end of that look.

“You’ve got a smudge of dirt on your nose. Just there,” Hermione tapped the side of her own nose. “Did you know?”

With that, she turned on her heel, walking over to help Moody with the tea.

“What’s _her_ problem?” Ron said crossly, rubbing his nose.

“I think she’s just…cautious,” Ginny said, being kind.

Ron scoffed and sat down on the floor next to his pack. Ginny took her place beside him, emptying their belongings to take stock of what they had. Harry found a rickety old chair and sat, taking his gun out to clean it.

Gazing around, he realized they were in less of a flat and more of a refurbished (a word he used loosely) office space. There were remnants of old schedules and graphs tacked to the walls; heavy metal desks were either piled up in the corner or scattered about the space collecting odds and ends; the ceilings were high and the wall adjacent to the front door was mostly windows.

Moody and Hermione spoke quietly in front of a small gurgling hob. Hermione kept looking over at them, arms crossed, obviously trying to convince Moody to change his mind about them.

Harry felt the urge to ask her exactly what her problem was.

He turned back to the windows and looked out into the glare of the waning sun until he saw spots.

“Harry,” Ginny handed him a plate of food and took a seat beside him. “Do you think we can trust her?” She asked this plainly, no edge to her voice, just uncertainty.

“Well she doesn’t seem to like us very much, does she? I like to think we’re rather charming, don’t you?” he murmured with a wry smirk. Ginny hid a smile behind her hand, glancing over to make sure Hermione hadn’t heard.

“I think you’re right, though,” he said, putting his gun away, having been too distracted to clean it. “She doesn’t seem like a threat. Just a bit frightened.”

Ginny nodded and leaned back in her seat, “We’re all frightened aren’t we?”

It wasn’t exactly a question.

“We’ll just have to see about her,” Ron said sourly, loud enough for Hermione to hear. Harry threw a pebble at him, flushing with embarrassment.

Trying to converse with Hermione was like pulling teeth. She sat clutching her mug of tea like it would somehow save her life. Ginny made them best effort of the three of them.  
Ron was still perturbed and Harry just didn’t feel like being bothered.

“Are you on your own?” Ginny asked as they sat around a small, smokeless warmer. It gave off a soft glow like a fireplace, lightening the darkened room.

“Er….I had a group,” Hermione said quietly. “But we got separated.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ginny. “Where are you traveling if you don’t mind my asking.”

Hermione looked like she minded terribly, but Ginny just stared at her with wide, innocent looking eyes. 

“We were looking for supplies in the surrounding cities,” was all Ginny got out of her.

“You’re not doing a very good job of not sounding suspicious,” Ginny said, taking a sip of tea. Harry snickered softly, picking apart a blade of grass. Hermione flushed and shifted uncomfortably.

“If you _must_ know--” 

“Oh we must,” Ron interjected.

Hermione gave him a withering look, “I’m carrying very important information back to my camp. And I was separated from my group so I came to Moody because I needed help getting back to my camp.”

“Information?” Harry inquired, suddenly interested.

“We had a fever outbreak. We needed medicine but nothing was working,” Hermione said reluctantly. “There was a doctor who lives near here and-- oh, I don’t have to prove myself to _you._ Why don’t you answer a few of my questions?”

“You actually haven’t asked any,” Harry pointed out. Ginny punched him. 

“What would you like to know?” she asked as Harry grinned. 

“You say you’re heading to a camp up north,” Hermione ignored Harry with some difficulty. “Why? And what camp?” 

Ron opened his mouth to speak but Ginn cut in smoothly, “That’s a bit personal I’m afraid. It’s just very important that we get there.” 

“Family?” Hermione tilted her head. 

“Sure.” 

Ginny and Hermione stared each other down then Hermione nodded, and it seemed as if some sort of mutual respect passed between them. 

“Although I don’t exactly approve, I think I’ll help you tomorrow. With the battery,” said Hermione, setting down her tea. Harry was a bit caught off guard. 

“Er. Thank you,” he said. “But why? Didn’t you say it was dangerous?” 

“Yes, but I don’t want to just sit here waiting for you, or at least some of you, to get back,” she replied. 

“That was bleak,” Harry curled a lip. 

“Sorry,” she looked abashed. “I think we should all get some rest.” 

She stood and turned off the warmer, gathering the abandoned mugs of tea. The stuff was potent and Harry had only managed a few mouthfuls. Moody was already asleep in his armchair, snoring like a hibernating bear. Hermione carefully took the mug out of his hand and brought them all to the small sink in the back corner of the room. 

Harry watched her with some interest. She was very odd. But oddness didn’t necessarily mean bad intentions. She crossed the room briskly and disappeared into the room behind the bookcase with a curt ‘goodnight.’ 

The other three laughed quietly, because that’s all they could do, and unrolled their sleeping bags. Harry stared at the dark ceiling long after the others had fallen asleep. So many things spun in his head. These new people (whether they were friends.) Where Hedwig could be (they hadn’t seen her after the storm and no one wanted to bring it up.) What lay ahead (for they still had so far to go.) 


	13. Chapter 13

_Present (September, 1996)_

“Keep your creepy ferret hands out of my bag!”

“Ferret hands!”

Harry rolled over, bleary-eyed. Ginny was on her back a few feet away, her hands over her face.

“How long have they been at it?” he asked thickly, rubbing his eyes.

“Long enough,” she mumbled.

“I’ll put a stop to it,” Harry threw a jacket on and stood. “Guys, come on.”

“She was looking through our packs while we were sleeping!” Ron objected, his voice cracking.

Harry looked at Hermione, feeling more than a little annoyed, but trying to stay calm, “Well that wasn’t very nice.”

Hermione had the decency to look embarrassed.

“Alright, I’m sorry. But I just wanted--”

“You just wanted to see if we were hiding anything!” Ron screeched.

“Ron, we _are_ hiding something,” said Ginny.

“And she also wouldn’t have found anything in our packs anyway,” Harry said. “But, perhaps don’t do that again?” He directed this at Hermione. “Unless of course we can take a look through _your_ backpack.”

Hermione frowned.

There was a small scramble as they wolfed down something to eat and packed up. Moody waited by the door the whole time, watching them with that surly gaze. It made Harry feel like Moody knew more than he was letting on and he was just waiting for one of them to say it.

“Alright,” Ron hiked his backpack up and looked around to see if they’d left anything. “Ready.”

“Let’s be off then,” Moody opened a door, a different door than the one they came in, and disappeared down the stairs.

Early morning was breaking over the city. A cold breeze snapped against their cheeks and the pale disk of autumn sun was distant and hazy behind a veil of clouds. Harry slipped on a pair of fingerless gloves to keep his hands from getting stiff with cold.

“How far is the school?” he asked, catching up with Moody.

“We’re not going to the school,” Mad-Eye replied.

“What? But you said--”

“That side of town is crawling with the dead. We’re going to need weapons,” Moody said gruffly. “I have an armory of sorts a few blocks away.”

“Oh,” Harry felt a tug of irritation. Logically, he knew that they would need the extra firepower. But he also just wanted to get on with it.

They all stiffened at the sound of a distant explosion.

“Should’ve checked the fences yesterday,” Moody was mumbling. “If too many of them get stacked up the whole thing goes down. Damn kids, should’ve left them swinging.”

“Sorry?” Harry looked at him.

“Nothin,” he snapped back.

“Super,” Harry dropped back to rejoin Ginny and Ron.

They quietly picked their way through cinder blocks and snares of brambles. They were all silent as they passed a walker caught in a closed window. It reached a clawed hand out towards them, snarling and frothing.

“How did Moody end up alone in this town?” Ginny asked Hermione. “It looks like there were quarantine zones and military bases all over this city so there must have been survivors.”

“You’ve never been to a QZ, have you?” Hermione studied Ginny, who hesitantly shook her head. “Not many of them survived. They either ended up a wasteland like this or they turned into a cesspool of criminals.”

“Is that true?” Ginny looked to Harry.

“Well…” he didn’t want to frighten her but it was the truth. Camp Surrey was on the edge of collapse when he left. They called it the Dead Summer. There was a famine. A heat wave. Over a hundred people died from starvation or heat stroke, and insurrection was quickly breeding behind darkened windows. There were riots in the streets, buildings burning, and nothing but the smell of death. Surrey was falling.

Harry wondered what it would look like now.

“That’s terrible,” Ginny shook her head. He hadn’t answered her question, but she could probably see the answer clearly on his face.

The road they were on led them to the church. It looked like someone had built it from cardboard and matchsticks, held together by ivy vines and a prayer. Moody unlocked an old wrought iron gate, ignoring a walker that seemed to have misplaced its legs.

“Bear trap,” was all he had to say about that. He led them through the churchyard to a pair of wooden basement doors. Harry and Ron held open them open as the others filed in.

“Close the damn doors!” Mad-Eye snapped, even though they were already doing so. Harry gave Ron a meaningful look.

“I know,” said Ron, pained.

The basement was chilly and smelled like mildew. A generator growled to life and a few, bare light bulbs flickered on overhead. As Harry’s eyes adjusted to the low light, he was unsurprised to find the room looked a lot like Moody’s apartment; furniture and trash strewn everywhere; weapons and buckets of ammunition piled in every corner.

“Was all this stuff just lying about?” Ron nudged a tray of grenades.

“In a way,” Moody replied, throwing open a cabinet full of shotguns and hunting rifles.

“I want that one,” Ginny was hovering around Moody excitedly. She pointed eagerly at a sniper rifle.

Mad-Eye sized her up then handed it to her without a word.

“Ginny! You can’t shoot that!” Ron protested. “It’s almost as big as you!”

“I can shoot a rifle,” Ginny glowered.

“And my middle name is Isabel.”

“She used to—”

Everyone turned to look at Hermione who had spoken, a bit loudly.

“She…used to break into the gun shed at home,” she continued, blushing. “And practice with your rifles in turn. She told me this morning.”

Harry snickered, then hid his smile behind his hand after a sharp look from Ron. Ginny’s ears turned red but she cocked the rifle and stared defiantly at her brother.

“Well…whatever,” Ron had a faint look of awe on his face as he cleared his throat and turned to look through the shelves of bullets. Harry took out his handgun and reloaded it. It took a bit of sorting. Not only was there a plethora of bullets, but screws and bolts had managed to get mixed in to the same drawers.

“Finished?” Moody asked, thrusting a nail bomb into Ginny’s waiting hands.

“He showed me how to make one,” she said when she joined Harry.

“Wicked,” he grinned.

A short walk up a set of rotting stairs led them up into the church sanctuary. It opened high into the air above them. The bowed ceiling had a peeling mural of what Harry assumed was someone’s idea of heaven; clouds and sunbeams and creepy naked babies made creepier by decay. Sunlight poured in from the dust-caked stain glass and holes in the ceiling, catching on the dust like fairy lights and giving the whole place an otherworldly glow.

“Now that’s just disrespectful,” Hermione was looking at the head of the altar where a statue of a veiled woman stood with her hands uplifted. Her eyes had been blackened out with coal and black tears streaked down her face.

“You don’t see many churches like this anymore,” she added, following Moody to the side door.

“Why not?” Ron asked, speaking to her without hostility for possibly the first time.

“In the beginning, thousands fled to churches, mosques, temples, and synagogues for prayer and sanctuary. Unfortunately, that only spread the virus faster.”

Harry hung back a little, gazing up at the statue. He hadn’t had much experience with religion, although Petunia was incredibly religious. She kept a string of prayer beads in her apron pocket, he often saw her clutching them whenever something terrible was happening outside, which was often.

He didn’t do much praying himself. When he did, they weren’t so much prayers as one-sided conversations with his parents. Eventually he’d stopped doing even that, after Dudley caught him and teased him mercilessly.

“Coming, Harry?” Ron called to him from the open door.

“Coming,” Harry raked a hand through his hair and quickly caught up to the group.

A graveyard lay beyond the door. It was small and the headstones were so worn and covered with moss, no one could read a thing. The crisp air was cut by the sudden stench of char on the breeze.

“Oh god,” Ginny covered her nose and mouth, looking sideways at a pile of still smoking corpses.

“Barbecuing, old man?” Ron asked, looking uneasy.

“Have to get rid of the fuckers somehow,” Moody replied, glancing at the pile. “Sorry you had to see that.”

Even Harry was a bit put off, and he’d been thrown into a pit of rotting walker corpses when he was thirteen. Becoming a vegetarian seemed like a good idea for a good thirty seconds.

“So what’s the plan?” Hermione asked, sounding like she’d been dying to ask that very question for a long while.

“Get in, get the battery, get out,” Moody replied. Hermione opened and closed her mouth for a moment. Harry and Ginny passed a look to each other, hiding smirks.

“Honestly,” Hermione finally managed to speak. “Do none of you think we should have a _plan?_ ”

“Alright, one,” Ron began, “ _we_ are a team.” He gestured to Harry, Ginny, and himself. “So we don’t need a plan. We’ve got each other. But if you need a plan so badly, why don’t you and Ginny take up the rear as watch while we take care of the battery?”

Hermione looked hurt and angry but no one could argue that putting the snipers in the back where they could be of the most use was a good strategic move.

The school was placed at the top of a small hill, the pale sun rising behind it.

“Get down,” Mad-Eye dropped into a couch a good distance from the main building and they all fell in beside him, huddled behind an old road block.

Ginny fished around in her pack and brought out a small brass spyglass. Keeping low, she peered over the top of the road block.

“I see a few rotters wandering around on the right. The left seems clear,” she said. Harry tapped her arm and she passed the spyglass to him.

“Isn’t that Dad’s?” Ron hissed.

“Shush, Ronald,” said Ginny.

Ginny was right. The road to the right had three or four walkers shambling aimlessly between rusting cars. To the left, he saw only a single shadow. However, there was a massive transport bus blocking most of his view.

“Is that the bus?” he asked, collapsing the telescope and nodding in the direction of the transpo.

“Yeah,” Moody nodded. “Keep your heads down. We’re going now.”

Still in a crouch, he led the way to the next blind, and the next. Harry remembered drills much like this back in Surrey. One team would practice their stealth skills, bobbing and weaving and hiding, while the other team tried to catch them using pellet guns. He still had a welt on his thigh where Draco shot him at point blank range.

The group stayed tight together as they crossed the parking lot, keeping out of sight and downwind. He could hear Ron’s breath trembling beside him. It occurred to him that he should be scared, but the adrenaline made him numb. Ginny and Hermione each had their weapons drawn, Ginny with the rifle at her shoulder, Hermione with an arrow knocked.

It almost seemed too easy when they got to the bus without anything coming after them. Harry and Ron flanked Moody while Ginny and Hermione stood back to back, their eyes sharp and searching. Hermione was an ace with her bow, taking out the sleepy walkers before they even saw them.

“We’ll have to go inside quick,” Mad-Eye was saying. “Can’t get to the hood from out here.”

Before a howl ripped across the parking lot. Something terrible had just spotted them. A clicker covered in fungus ran for them, an endless screech coming out of its bulbous head. Hermione took it out with her bow and its howl died gurgling in its throat.

“Run,” Moody said, in a low, frightening voice. Harry’s hair stood on end as he heard the frantic sounds of a hoard rushing towards the school. Ron grabbed Ginny’s hand and tugged her close to his side as they all took off in a sprint.

“In!” Moody dove into a basement window. Harry took the straps of Ron’s backpack and shoved him through before he could argue about it.

“Go, go!” Harry urged Hermione and Ginny as he shot another clicker that was making a mad dash at them.

“Harry!” Ginny shouted from inside. Blood pounded in his ears as he felled two, three, four more. Hoping he’d slowed the hoard enough, he jumped headfirst into the open window.

“Look out!” Hermione cried out as a runner made it through after him, tackling Ron, who had been trying to close it. An arrow was sticking out of its head before anyone had even drawn breath. Hermione jumped like a cat and slammed the window shut. Ron gaped at her, flinching as she reached a hand out to him, then gratefully taking it.

“It won’t hold,” Ginny said, crouched in the corner with her rifle at her shoulder, aimed at the window.

Moody was already deep under the hood of the transport vehicle, Ron at his side. The window cracked, the razor wire starting to give.

“We’ve got to go!” Hermione’s voice was thin and quivering, her bow shaking madly.

“We won’t die here,” Harry’s voice carried across the small concrete room. He had no place making such a promise, it was reckless really, but he would make damn sure _they_ didn’t die there.

“You’re goddamn right,” Moody hauled the battery out of the engine block of the bus and shoved it into his pack. “This way.”

He threw open the door to the small storage room, shooting a walker in the face before leading them into the hallways of the school.

Harry touched Hermione’s elbow and nudged her ahead of him. He walked backwards a few paces, shooting a walker or two before slamming the door behind him and following the group. The hallways were a nightmare. Windowless hallways and double doors after double doors. Harry took up the rear, making sure to shut each door before taking off after the others. He could hear the dead throwing them open easily but if it was one more thing between him and their teeth, he would keep doing it.

The gang finally burst into a gymnasium turned barracks.

“Climb the bleachers!” Ron called out when Moody made for yet another door. “Look!”

He pointed up past the collapsed bleachers to the windows. Wordlessly, Moody crouched and held his hands together to boost Ginny up. Harry stood next to him at the base, listening to the hoard growing ever closer. When they burst into the gym, there were at least a dozen more than he’d thought. He heard a soft grunt and saw something sail over their heads. An explosion set his ears ringing. Ginny stood beside Ron and Hermione, poised to throw another bomb.

“Harry!” Ron’s muffled voice called to him from above. He stepped into Moody’s cupped hands as Ron, Ginny, and Hermione fired at the stragglers. Moody clumsily and slowly climbed up behind Harry, swearing the whole way up.

Panting and shaking, they stared at the last of the walkers as they threw themselves against the collapsed bleachers. They all looked at one another in blank shock and exhaustion before Ron kicked in a window and they climbed out.

They were all still jumpy and nerve-wracked as they silently followed Moody towards god-knows-where. They weren’t heading back to Moody’s place as far as Harry could tell. He didn’t have the strength to ask.

“Are you okay?” Harry wedged himself between Ginny and Ron, looking at both of them.

“Think so,” Ginny murmured, knuckles white around the barrel of her rifle.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, looking dazed. “I just…never saw so many of them.”

“You did alright back there,” Harry said, trying to be positive. “That was quick thinking.”

“Thanks,” Ron smiled bleakly.

Harry let their arms bump against him, finding comfort in their closeness. He caught sight of Hermione, drifting at the edge of the group, arrow still knocked, looking unable to put it away. Her already wide eyes were wider as she looked around like a frightened animal.

“Alright, Hermione?” Harry called to her. She looked at him, surprised.

“Er. Yes,” she replied awkwardly.

“Thank you,” Ron said, just as awkwardly. “For….you know.”

Hermione’s face softened ever so slightly. “You’re welcome.”

And with that, a small bit of ease settled between them.

There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and outrunning a zombie horde is one of them.

“Almost there,” Moody said, sounding almost encouraging as he climbed up a scaffolding. They spent the rest of the trek on the roofs, crossing creaky old bridges and climbing rope ladders.

Finally, _finally,_ Mad-Eye opened a window into the attic of a small house. Harry stood back as the other filed in, watching the sun climb slowly upwards. The perimeter was checked and rooms cleared, and, after Moody vanished into the garage, the others found themselves standing in a dazed circle in the middle of the living room.

Hermione was the first to speak, “We should eat something.”

“Right. Sounds good,” Harry sat on the musty old sofa and the others scrunched in beside him, no one really wanting to take the chair across the room. Ron seemed to be the only one with an appetite, wolfing down a granola bar without much thought to it. They listened to Moody messing about with what Harry assumed to be a car in the garage.

Harry happened a glance at Ginny and saw her face pinched in concentration. He elbowed her and mouthed “what?”

Ginny gave him a complicated look then stood, “Harry, Ron. Can I talk to you in the kitchen?”

Ron looked up mid-chew and nodded vaguely. They stood, shrugging at one another, and followed Ginny into the kitchen where she paced for a moment or two before speaking.

“I think Hermione should come with us,” she said finally.

Harry raised his eyebrows, “Oh? Er. Why?”

Ginny pulled something out of her pocket and tossed it to him. It was a bronze coin about two inches across. There was something carved into the face: _D.A._ followed by the numbers _4-9-3._ On the reverse side there was a crest; a banner above and below reading _Hogwarts_ with a complicated looking coat of arms in the middle.

“Impossible,” Harry breathed, flipping the coin back and forth in his hand, not quite believing his eyes.

Ron took it, frowning as he inspected it closely.

“How did you get that?” Harry asked Ginny, who looked very guilty.

“Nicked it off her,” she replied, hugging her arms around herself.

“What do you reckon D.A. means?” Ron rubbed the face of it with his thumb.

“I don’t think it matters, Ron.”

“I dunno, it could mean Dark Assassin or something.”

“Quit.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, “Alright. This obviously means she’s from Hogwarts. Do you actually trust her, though?”

“I don’t know. I think so. She saved Ron didn’t she?” Ginny tugged on her braid. “And besides. I….wouldn’t feel right leaving her here when we have a car.”

Ron started to nod then caught himself, scowling for a reason Harry couldn’t fathom, the coin closed tightly in his fist.

He rubbed the scar on his arm absently as he thought. He’d begun to admire Hermione’s seemingly infinite knowledge and her quick draw with her bow. He reckoned he’d be down a Weasley if she hadn’t been at the school with them. The only thing between them, really, was this secret.

“I suppose…we should go talk to her,” he said. “Ron?”

“Well I mean you’re the leader.”

Harry winced. “Ron, we’re a team. We all have to be on the same page here. Yea or nay?”

Ron looked at the ground and gave a short laugh followed by a heavy sigh.

“Alright,” he replied. “But it’s your call on whether or not to tell her about your….affliction.”

“I agree,” said Ginny. Harry felt a twist in his stomach. On one hand, he wanted to trust Hermione. She seemed smart, rational, and capable. On the other hand, he didn’t think she was the type to calmly sit and absorb that kind of information.

“I…I’ll tell her,” Harry took a deep breath. “The worst that could happen is that she’ll try to kill me.”

Ron laughed dryly. Ginny didn’t seem amused. They went back to the living room, where Hermione was poring over a map, her tongue peeking out from between her lips in a childish sort of way. She looked up when they came in and, sensing something serious, folded her map.

“Well?” she asked, trying to seem impatient, but there was a tremor in her voice.

Wordlessly, Harry sat on the coffee table across from her and put the coin on her knee. She stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending, then she snatched it up, looking at them in horror.

“You’re not one of them. No, you can’t be. Show me your forearms. Now,” Hermione was on her feet, a knife drawn from her boot and pointed at them.

“Whoa, okay, okay,” Harry stood, holding his hands up. “We’re not one of anyone, calm down. We’re on your side.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I said forearms,” Hermione stood her ground, looking cornered but resolute.

“You know we have _guns_ right?” Ron said in exasperation.

“There _had_ to be a better way to start this conversation,” Ginny sighed.

“Not helping,” Harry snapped then turned back to Hermione. “Listen. We’re going to Camp Hogwarts. We want to help you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Hermione said, her hand shaking.

“Look,” Ginny stepped forward and pulled up her sleeves, showing her arms to Hermione. “Look. Nothing. See?”

Ginny manhandled Ron into pulling his sleeves up as well. Hermione steadied, lowering her knife slowly.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly running dry. A panicked heat licked up his neck as his heart tripped in his ribcage. Carefully, he extended his arm to Hermione and folded back his sleeve, exposing the mottled scar.

Hermione dropped her knife with a clatter and fell back a step.

“That’s…that’s not…” she stammered. Her initial shock wore off almost immediately and she came forward, grabbing Harry’s wrist to inspect the scar closer.

“I was bitten when I was eleven,” Harry explained, a little uncomfortable at her closeness. “I heard that Hogwarts was still looking for the cure.”

“Who told you that?” Hermione looked up quickly.

“His name was Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid.”

“Hagrid!” Hermione’s face was a mix of exasperation and mirth. “Of course.”

“You know him? Is he alive?” Harry asked, grabbing her shoulder.

“Yes, he’s the groundskeeper,” Hermione shook him off. Then she squinted at him. “Your name is Harry? Harry what?”

“Er….Harry Potter?” he didn’t see the importance of his surname but it gave Hermione quite a turn. She put a hand to her stomach and sat, heavily. There was a ringing in his ears as if another bomb had gone off. He almost wished he hadn’t said anything in the first place.

“Harry Potter,” she covered her face with her hands. “Harry Potter. Harry _bloody_ Potter.”

“She’s cracked, mate,” Ron muttered and was quickly shushed by Ginny. Harry, unsettled, decided to let Hermione be for a moment. The way she was saying his name. She knew it.   
How did she know it? Harry felt ill and had to sit down as well.

Moody came in at that moment, wiping grease from his hands, “What is the commotion out here? Do you want every walker in town knocking down the door?”

“Moody,” Hermione raised her head and there were tears in her eyes. “He’s Harry Potter. He’s Harry bloody Potter.”

“Of course he is,” said Mad-Eye. “He’s the proper age. Got Lily’s eyes. James’s everything else. Didn’t you know?”

“You knew!” Hermione cried.

“How?” Harry was standing, shouting. He made to lunge at Moody but Ginny was faster and held him back. “How do you know my parents? Tell me!”

It occurred to him that he sounded a bit hysterical but it seemed appropriate considering the situation.

“I knew your parents from Hogwarts,” Moody looked down, no lack of emotion in his voice. “James and Lily Potter were two of the bravest people I’ve ever known. That anyone knew.”

“We all thought you were dead,” Hermione said.

“What does it matter if he’s dead or alive?” Ron interjected then looked sheepish. “Sorry, mate. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Harry was beginning to feel lightheaded and he was grateful for Ginny’s hand on his elbow.

“Well…I only know the story as it’s been told to me. Perhaps Moody could fill in the blanks,” Hermione looked at Moody and he nodded. She took a breath. “At the very beginning of the outbreak in 1977, your parents were a part of a group looking for a vaccine. Your mother was one of the most brilliant biochemists of her age. She managed to reverse early symptoms of the virus in rats and stop transmission altogether but…human testing was very limited and under very narrow time constraints.”

Harry eased himself onto the coffee table, Ginny beside him, both enraptured.

“She and your father, James…They um…There seemed to be no other way, you see. Their friends didn’t even know,” Hermione had devolved into nervous babbling, looking at Moody for rescue but his old craggy face was turned away, riddled with pain. Harry felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

“They tested themselves,” he said hollowly.

Hermione pressed her lips together and nodded.

“Is that how they died?” he felt his chin tremble, his nails dug into his palms. “The trials?”

There was a long pause.

“They were murdered,” Moody spoke, his voice rough. “By a man named Tom Riddle.”


	14. Chapter 14

_Present (September, 1996)_

“Murdered?” Ginny’s voice swam to Harry through the fugue of white noise. “Why?”

The air had completely gone out of him and he buried his fingers in his hair as if clinging to it would somehow keep him from falling off the edge of the world.

“Tom Riddle thinks that we as a people—well we as some people—are better off living like this,” said Hermione, casting Harry a furtive look, as if he might jump up and start yelling again. “Where a person can take whatever they want from weaker people. He thought….if the Potters died, the cure would die with them.”

Harry lifted his head slowly. Everyone stood around him with a look of shock on their faces.

“This is….a lot to take in,” Ginny sat slowly.

Ron pressed his fingers over his eyelids and sighed. “Can we start from the beginning?”

“I thought that _was_ the beginning,” Hermione said dryly.

“That’s fair. Okay. So Harry is immune, we get that. Everyone else thought he was dead, though? You’re telling me _no one_ knew he was out there getting treated like dirt by his dumpster-fire relatives?” Ron lifted his head, looking between Moody and Hermione.

“Well….I suppose Dumbledore must have known. Possibly McGonagall,” Hermione furrowed her brow.

“And they just _left him_ there?” Ron raised his voice, seething.

“I’m not sure they knew the whole situation,” Hermione ducked her head. “Perhaps this isn’t the best time to talk about all of this.”

Harry looked over at the Weasleys, who both looked like tightly coiled springs. The siblings looked at each other, having a silent conversation between them.

“We should head out while there’s still light,” Harry stood, his knees shaking. “We can talk in the car.”

Hermione stood uncertainly. “You’ll still have me?”

“Well… _you_ didn’t kill my parents, did you?” Harry said dryly. Hermione didn’t respond, only quietly gathered her things. Ron put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Thanks, mate,” Harry gave him a weak smile. He turned to Moody, who had been silent for some time.

“Were you going to tell me?” He asked, approaching the old man. “You knew who I was but you didn’t say anything.”

“I would have,” Moody nodded. He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and drew him away from the group. He fished into his pocket and handed Harry a photograph that had been folded in half. He opened it and found a dozen or so people smiling up at him. He stared at it blankly for a moment until one face in particular caught his eye. It was a face he’d seen in an album hidden under the floorboards of Number Four Privet Drive. A grinning face framed by wild red hair.

“My mum,” he said breathlessly. There was a man with his arms around her waist, lifting her up off the ground. He was tall, dark, with a mop of unruly hair and a pair of glasses resting on his face. “And my dad.”

“They called it The Order of the Phoenix, that little group of wise asses,” Moody said fondly. “Trying to raise humanity from the ashes, or whatever shite they liked to say about that.”

“That’s you,” Harry managed to tear his eyes away from his parents long enough to see Moody, sans eyepatch, standing near the center of the photograph.

“Yeah well,” Mad-Eye grumbled. “Keep that. So you know who your friends are.”

Overcome with emotion, Harry took off his glasses as they fogged up and took several deep breaths.

“Thank you, Moody,” he said when he could manage it.

“You can thank me by getting the hell out of my town,” Moody turned away and made for the garage, where Hermione, Ginny, and Ron were making themselves scarce.

“Hey,” Ginny was sitting in the driver’s seat of the faded yellow hatchback, while Ron showed her how to pop the clutch. “Alright, Harry?”

He nodded, carefully putting the picture of The Order in his backpack, “Ready to go?”

“Well, sort of.”

“It won’t start. We’re going to have to get it moving before it’ll go anywhere,” Ron said. “That’s why Ginny’s driving. You and I will push.”

“Alright,” Harry nodded and threw his bag into the open trunk. “Moody, do you mind watching our backs while we try to start it?” Mad-Eye nodded and went to the garage door.

“If we’re all ready,” Harry put his hands on the back bumper of the car. Ron joined him and Hermione perched herself in the open window of the car, Ginny’s rifle across her lap. Harry nodded to Moody. The garage door opened with a great creaking and grinding of gears. Harry and Ron pushed the car and it rolled out of the garage and down the steep driveway.

“Ginny, start it!” Ron called. The engine whined and rolled. Harry swore as he saw movement from one of the houses. Walkers were already swarming. He started to reach for his gun but a blast from behind them took care of the walker before it even came near.

“Moody,” Harry said, glancing back briefly. Moody stood at the end of the driveway, shotgun cocked lazily in one hand as he leaned on his walking stick.

“Keep pushing, damn idiots!” he shouted, firing another shot.

Ginny gave the key another turn, the engine trying its best to start, and failing once again. A clicker appeared on the left, screeching and swinging. Its head exploded all over Ron, who shouted obscenities back at Moody.

“He could have shot me!” he yelled at Hermione when she told him to shut up.

As they reached the crest of a small hill, Ginny turned the key again, “Come on you shitty tin can!”

As if out of spite, the engine roared to life.

“Get in!” Hermione said needlessly, sliding back into the car. Harry and Ron were already jumping into the open trunk, firing on the horde of walkers descending on them.

“Floor it, Gin!” Ron called. The tires screeched and they were flying down the street.

Harry watched as Moody shrank in the distance. He raised his walking stick to them then turned away towards the house.

They drove for a good distance before they pulled over.

“You think Moody will be okay?” Ginny asked as she slid out of the driver’s seat.

“Of course,” Ron said, climbing out of the trunk. “He’s a nutter with way too much time on his hands.”

Harry smiled and closed the trunk before climbing into the backseat with Ginny.

“You should sleep back there,” Hermione said from the passenger’s seat. “We’ll take turns sleeping and driving.”

“Yes, Mum,” Ron said, starting the car once again. “You know where we’re going, right?”

“Obviously,” Hermione said snidely, pulling out a map. “Let’s stay on the highway though. It’s safest.”

“Oh sure, it’s not like bandits exist.”

“How are we supposed to sleep with you two going at it?” Ginny pointed out. Harry snickered and pressed his forehead to the window. His head buzzed with questions like a swarm of bees but he was asleep almost instantly.

It was raining when the nightmare brought Harry back into the world of the living. Hermione was now driving and Ron was asleep in the passenger’s seat. Ginny had her legs tucked under her as she read a comic book. She glanced over at him when he jerked awake and waved. He quickly checked he hadn’t been drooling (he had) and the crick in his neck suggested he’d been sleeping at a very unattractive angle.

“What time is it?” he looked out the window but the clouds were so dark and thick, he couldn’t get an accurate look at the light.

“Almost three,” Ginny replied, looking at her watch.

Harry nodded and leaned forward, “Are you doing alright, Hermione? We can trade if you like.”

“I could use a break,” she said gratefully. “Thank you.”

After a small stop and a quick change, Harry now sat in the driver’s seat next to Ron, slightly damp and going a lot faster than Hermione had been.

“So you know how to drive,” Harry said to Hermione before she put her head down on the sweater she’d been working into a pillow, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Are there cars at Hogwarts?”

“A couple,” she said, keeping her voice low so Ron wasn’t disturbed, although Harry knew Ron could sleep through a herd of elephants if they happened to pass by. “We have outposts every few kilometers surrounding the camp and sometimes groups take trips to other camps to liberate civilians or…”

“Or?” Harry pressed.

“Well. I should let Dumbledore tell you this but…Riddle has a rather large following. They’re called Death Eaters.”

“They call _themselves_ that?” Ginny curled her lip. “Why?”

“A lot of them have….specific appetites,” Hermione cleared her throat.

“Appetites?” Ginny tipped her head.

Harry and Hermione shared a look in the rearview mirror and he was suddenly eleven again, not knowing what humans were capable of either.

“Cannibals,” Harry said quietly.

Ginny blanched and looked down at her hands. “Well…that’s certainly an appropriate name then.”

“No kidding,” Harry shifted in his seat. “So they murder scientists and eat people. What else?”

“Well. Riddle really wants Camp Hogwarts. It’s in a better location, has more food and clean water, more people to exploit,” Hermione sighed wearily. “And of course we all oppose him so we’ve got to be destroyed.”

“Wow. You guys are really…in it,” Ginny said. “So where exactly is your camp?”

Hermione was silent for a long time and Harry had to glance back to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep. She wasn’t asleep but she was looking at him with a look that could only be described as disappointed disgust.

“You don’t know where it is?” she rubbed her temples. “You were on your way _there._ ”

“We just thought we’d ask around when we got to Scotland. Or maybe there’d be signs. I don’t know,” Ginny shrugged, noncommittal.

“That’s an excellent way to get yourselves killed,” Hermione shook her head. “It’s in Linlithgow Castle.”

“Lilithigow _whom?_ ” Ron said, startling everyone.

“ _Lin-lith-gow,_ ” Hermione replied. “It was actually the birthplace of Mary Queen of Scots.”

“How interesting,” Ron yawned.

“I think it is,” Ginny said encouragingly.

“Anyway,” Hermione shot Ron a glare. “It’s right on the edge of a lake and the grounds are huge. We have gardens and livestock and even a library.”

“That’s incredible,” Ginny breathed.

Harry was dumbfounded. He’d never in his wildest dreams imagined a castle. He’d passed a few larger camps outside of the QZs, but they were mainly tent cities. He’d imagined something like that or another quarantine zone that had been abandoned then repopulated.

He hadn’t had much time to decide which question to ask next because they were all suddenly captivated by what was ahead. 

The city appeared to them through the fog like a great beast. The rain had let up and they could now clearly see it rising in front of them. Skyscrapers covered in ivy; trees growing out of sewers; buildings crumbling into each other; and cars lining the road like coffins.

“Uh oh,” Ron sat up in the passenger’s seat. “Remember that thing we said about staying on the highway?”

Harry sighed heavily and stopped the car as the girls in the back leaned in to see what he was talking about. A massive pile up of abandoned cars and rubble blocked any chance they had of continuing on their current path. The only option was to follow the break in the highway that led into the city.

They all looked at each other. They looked at the stretch of road behind them.

“I don’t like it,” Hermione said. “But it would take ages to go around.”

“It feels an awful lot like a trap,” Harry warned.

“Tomorrow is October,” Ginny pointed out. “What if it starts snowing? It has done a few years in a row.”

Harry took a long breath and thought. He looked at Ron.

Ron shrugged, “if you think we can make it through in one piece, I think we should do it. But it’s your choice.”

Harry was growing weary of making decisions.

“Fuck it,” he said and stepped on the gas, making for the city.

“Can’t argue with that,” Ron smirked. They all sat up a bit straighter and put hands on their weapons. Harry leaned in close to the steering wheel, looking up at the buildings that rose on either side of them, searching for movement in the windows. He thought he saw a shadow every now and then, but it could also be a trick of the light, or just a walker.

There was an uneasy silence in the car. Harry felt his instincts flood him with the urge for flight, his pulse fluttering erratically.

“Oh shit,” Ron sat up suddenly and Harry braked, hard.

“Help me!” a man was stumbling towards them, a bloodied hand outstretched. “Please!”

“Harry…” Hermione said in a low voice.

“Buckle up,” Harry threw his seatbelt on.

“But what about the guy?” Ginny protested but put her seatbelt on as well.

“He’s not even hurt.”

The tires squealed and the car barreled at the man in the street. Dropping the façade, the man pulled out a gun and shot at the windshield, shouting for reinforcements. Hermione gasped and ducked behind Harry’s seat. There was a godawful thud as the man moved too late and caught a piece of the front bumper. Scavengers jumped out of their hiding places, throwing bricks and firing gunshots.

Ginny screamed as the window closest to her shattered.

“Oh, not good!” Ron shouted as a shadow fell over them.

Metal groaned and scraped and Harry looked up just as a bus rolled down the hill on their right and hit them with enough force to send them spinning out of control. They crashed through the front of an old store, where they came to rest amidst the rubble and debris.

Harry moaned and barely staved off unconsciousness. He squinted through the dust and saw shapes coming towards them. He almost threw up into his lap. Closing his eyes for an hour or three sounded like the absolute best idea ever.

“Let go of me, chicken-shit!”

Ginny’s shouting snapped him back into the world of the living. He saw her as she was dragged out of the car, her legs kicking madly.

“Hey!” Harry wrestled off his seatbelt and drew his gun. Off-kilter, he stumbled and was struck in the face before he could get a shot in. He managed to stay on his feet, but he was struck again. Making the executive decision not to be punched a third time, he drew his knife and swung. The man who had hit him jumped out of range but made the mistake of staying there. Harry shot him three times in the chest before turning to find Ginny stabbing a Swiss Army Knife hilt deep into the neck of a man twice her size.

Ron struggled with his opponent. He was bent over a broken glass door, his neck dangerously close to the business end of a glass shard. Before Harry could move, Ron managed to swing a bony elbow into the man’s temple, dazing him then twisting him around and shoving him face first into the glass.

“For fuck’s sake, they’re just kids!” a woman fired at Harry, the bullet grazing his forehead. He dove behind a countertop and reloaded his gun. He popped up from behind the counter and shot the woman in the shoulder, then the head. He heard a scuffle and he saw Ron holding a man in a headlock. He tightened his hold until the man choked and slumped to the ground.

They all stood panting for a moment or two, checking around to make sure they’d incapacitated their ambushers.

“Hermione,” Ron was the first to speak, running to her side of the car. She was lying limp in the back seat, her forehead bleeding. “Oh shit fuck. That’s a lot of blood. Harry?” He looked up at him beseechingly.

Harry knelt beside him, “It’s just a cut. Not too deep.”

He took out the clean gauze and put a good wad of it against her head.

“Ah…” she winced and blinked open her eyes.

“Hey,” Ron sighed and smiled, taking the gauze out of Harry’s hands.

“Ambush?” she raised an eyebrow.

“How’d you guess?” Harry scoffed, grinning back at her. “We can’t stay here long so do us a favor and stop bleeding.”

“I’ll try,” Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry stood and took stock of their surroundings. The city was quiet for now, but he knew when the ambush party didn’t return to whatever base camp they had, there would be more scavengers scouring the streets—if they weren’t out there already.

“Are you alright?” Harry made his way over to Ginny. She was furiously scrubbing her knife with a scrap of cloth, glaring at it.

“It’s different, you know? Killing walkers versus killing them,” she said, her voice sharp. He started to reach out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder then thought better of it.

“It is. But it was them or us,” he said softly.

Ginny took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispered and tossed the knife away. Harry nodded, not knowing what to say. He took the next few moments to search the dead men for anything useful, a task that he found morbid but necessary. As he searched he noticed a strange marking on their arms.

“Hermione,” he called to her. “When we were still at Moody’s, you asked to see our forearms.”

“Yeah?”

“Were you looking for this?” he held up a dead man’s arm so she could see.

Hermione slapped Ron’s hands away from her as he fiddled with a bandage on her head so she could take a look. Her eyes flew wide and she stood up. Ron caught her arm as she wobbled.

Each man had a skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth tattooed on their inner forearm. Some marks were older than others but they were all the same.

“That’s the dark mark,” Hermione said faintly. “It’s the mark of a Death Eater. We’ve got to get out of here quickly.”

“Can you make it?” Ginny asked, giving the dead men a wide berth as she made her way over to the car.

“I can.”

“Good. Let’s go,” Harry gathered his things from the car wreck and led the way into the streets. “We need to find a way out of here.”

“Can we go back the way we came?” Ron looked down the street.

“We’re too far in and now we’re on foot,” Harry shoot his head. “We might as well push through. Keep your heads down.”

Ginny pulled up her hood, tucking her red hair back. “After all that bullshit at Moody’s we’re back to walking.”

They moved through the city at a fast clip. They were mostly directionless and the city had been set up like a kind of maze, no doubt to confuse and trap people like them. Many turns led to dead ends or looped them back into main streets. The dead city whispered with wind. Old beams creaked and moaned, animals scuffled in the shadows, and wreckage of anarchy marred nearly every wall.

Harry felt his nerves jangling in his fingertips as he and Hermione walked side by side, taking turns with navigation. Rather, Hermione allowed him a decision or two when she agreed with it.

“This place was a QZ too, wasn’t it?” Ginny whispered, staring at the _DEATH TO PIGS_ spray paint on the wall beside them. There were sprays of brownish stains around it and pooled below as if some sort of execution had happened there. “It’s…worse than Moody’s town.”

“People do all sorts of things when they’re starving,” Harry murmured.

“Yeah but I mean…you’ve gotta have a lot of balls to hang a cop,” Ginny craned her neck, pointing at a pair of skeletons in riot gear hanging above them.

“They probably deserved it,” Hermione said flatly.

Ron and Ginny looked at Harry.

He nodded. “In Surrey the officers got more rations than everyone else. Because they ‘served the people.’ Which of course is a crock of shit.”

“Oh,” was all Ginny had to say about that.

As they climbed over a slab of fallen concrete, they found themselves ankle-deep in murky green water.

“Oh _God,_ ” Hermione groaned and looked down at her feet.

“Mmh, feels like trench foot,” Ginny looked the least disgusted out of the four of them.

Harry looked up and down the road and saw only water. There was most of a bridge to their left, damming the water up. To their right, was yet another blockage of razor wire, road dividers, and probably some noise traps now that Harry was thinking about it.

“We could try that,” Ginny came to his side and nodded towards the old hotel across the street. Every side of it was molding and crumbling. It sagged wearily in the middle as if it might take one great sigh and just collapse.

“It looks like a hunter’s nest to me,” Hermione said. “We don’t know how many of them are holed up in there right this minute. Not to mention this is a breeding ground for clickers.”

“What other choice do we have?” Ron said, looking up and down the street again.

Harry was growing tired of having all his choices made for him, but he took their silence as a consensus and took a step forward. His leg shot straight down and he would have completely fallen in, had Ron not grabbed his backpack.

“Are you okay?” Ginny laughed, covering her mouth.

“Shut _up,_ ” Harry sighed and looked down at his soaked pants. “That’s much deeper than it looks.”

“There must have been a subway down there and the street above it collapsed,” Hermione mused, looking into the water. “That’s probably why that bus is there.”

She pointed to a mostly submerged double-decker in the middle of the street.

“Yeah that is probably correct,” Harry shook some of the water out of his shoe and followed the cackling trio.

“Is trench-dick a thing that exists?” Ginny called backwards.

“Shut up!” Harry blushed to the roots of his hair and choked out a laugh. The gap between the curb and the bus was wide, but not so wide that Ginny couldn’t jump it at a full gallop, which is exactly what she did. Her feet slid a bit on the other side but she didn’t fall.

“Alright, chumps,” she shouted back to them. “Who’s next?”

Ron, never one to be shown up, took a running leap. His feet hit the bus then shot out from under him. Ginny leapt and caught his arm before he fell into the water.

“Jeez!” Ron gasped and flopped onto his back on the roof.

“Will you move so we can come over?” Harry called over as loud as he dared.

Grumbling, Ron rolled onto his feet. He and Ginny took turns jumping from the bus to the gaping hole on the face of the hotel. They crouched on the lip of the hole and flipped off Harry and Hermione in tandem.

“Vulgar,” Hermione scowled. She cast a nervous glance at Harry, who gestured politely. She huffed angrily and took a few large steps back, slinging her bow over her back. She took a running start and jumped. She tucked and rolled gracefully across the roof of the bus and popped up, perfectly poised.

Ginny clapped and held up both hands, “Ten points to Miss. Granger.”

Hermione stood and flashed Ginny a smile before running and jumping to join them on the other end.

Harry stood across the water, shaking out his shoulders. He mentally crossed his fingers and prayed that this wouldn’t be the way they found out he couldn’t swim. He leapt across the murky green water, landed on the bus, and took another bound to land amongst his friends.

“Everyone good?” he panted, dusting himself off.

“Good,” Hermione nodded. “Let’s hope that didn’t attract too much attention.”

“Right,” Harry agreed and climbed carefully into the hotel. The slope of rotting wood and concrete before them disappeared into more of the dank, dirty water. Upon closer inspection, however, it was only ankle deep.

“We’re all going to have to thoroughly dry our socks and shoes tonight,” Hermione said, her lip curling in distaste.

“We can take turns carrying each other piggy-back,” Ron suggested.

“Spiffing idea, Ronald,” Ginny said and launched herself at him like a spider-monkey. Ron swore sharply but maintained his balance. Ginny looked rather smug as he adjusted her on his back instead of throwing her off.

They quickly sobered when they heard distant gunshots.

“Come on. This way,” Harry took the lead. The lobby led to what looked like a ballroom. There was a rotting wood arch at the head of the room and chairs scattered every which way. Harry looked down at a shredded veil and imagined the horror of having one’s wedding interrupted by an apocalypse. They passed through another room, the bridal suite, and found a disturbing number of worn shoes, backpacks, and coats.

“Oh God,” Ginny slid off of Ron’s back and picked up a clipboard. Listed were descriptions of people, dates, and a log of possessions.

Thoroughly chilled, they made an exit. Hallways led to more hallways, stairs to stairs to dead ends. Finding an exit seemed impossible. Either years of damage blocked them, or passages were purposely nailed shut. In any case, they found themselves three flights up, no closer to a way out.

“Should we stay the night here?” Ron asked. “The sun is getting low.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Hermione replied. “From what we’ve seen, people either live here, or its patrolled often.”

“I agree,” Harry whispered, then paused at an open window. “Look there.”

He pointed out across the city. A bridge rose up over the roofs and, past it, a forest.

“That’s our way out,” he said. “If we can cross that bridge we can escape into the woods and get away from here.

“Good eye, Harry,” Ron grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, relieved to finally have a visible goal.

“I’m sure we just need to find a fire escape,” Hermione said, jogging down to the end of the hall, where an elevator door stood partially open.

“This looks like some kind of way in and out of the other part of the hotel,” Ginny peeked through the door. “There’s a ladder and scaffolding going up into the shaft here.”

“You said shaft.”

Ron wheezed as Ginny punched him in the gut.

“I don’t know about this,” Hermione eyed the door skeptically.

“It does look used,” Harry said. He grunted and pried open the doors. A ladder was propped up under the door to the elevator shaft.

“I’ll go first, I’m the lightest,” Ginny said.

“No way,” Ron took her arm and held her back. “I’ll go.”

No one argued as he stepped into the elevator and climbed the ladder, disappearing into the darkness above. The lift groaned and they could hear Ron’s footsteps on the roof for a moment.

“There’s a little ledge up here that we can skirt across,” Ron’s disembodied voice reached out to them from above and they all breathed a sigh. “The only dodgey thing is the next lift is a bit further down. We’ll have to jump it.”

“Ron, don’t you dare—” Ginny started but was interrupted by the sound of Ron very much daring. There was a terrific crash as Ron hit the top of the next elevator.

“I’m alright!” came Ron’s voice, fainter this time. “You can come up!”

“One at a time,” Harry shook his head at his friend’s pigheaded bravery. Ginny stormed past them, climbing the ladder and shouting at Ron.

“I swear, Ronald Billius Weasley, you must have it out for my nerves, scaring me half to death!”

“Do they do that often?” Hermione asked Harry. “Try to see which one can kill the other from fright?”

“Every day.”

“Hmph,” Hermione climbed into the elevator next. Harry waited until her feet disappeared before following. He found her pressed flat against the wall of the elevator shaft, her breath going in and out rapidly.

“Hermione?” he said softly. “Can you make it?”

“I’m trying quite desperately to move my legs,” Hermione said thinly. “It doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Just breathe, okay?” said Harry, because it seemed like the right thing to say. Hermione took a breath and slowly skirted along the wall. It seemed to take ages, her baby steps, but she finally made it to the other side of the elevator shaft. Harry followed closely behind, not daring to look down into the abyss below. Ron and Ginny’s silhouettes stood in the open doors across from them, waiting patiently. The elevator was nearly two meters below their feet but they’d managed to climb up to the next floor.

“Now just jump,” Ron said encouragingly. “Just a little rabbit hop.”

“I’m a bit larger than a rabbit,” Hermione’s voice quivered. Harry saw her shut her eyes and count, _onetwothree._ She jumped and the elevator shuddered, cables whipping and snapping against each other. She quickly scurried to the wall and began to climb the last few feet, Ginny and Ron stretching to help her up. Harry listened uneasily to the creaking and echoing around him.

“Come on now, Harry,” Ginny said. “You’re holding up the party.”

“I’m not sure it’ll hold,” he said back.

“It held all three of us,” Ron pointed out.

“That’s the point,” Harry muttered. He took a deep breath. And another one.

He jumped.

The elevator wobbled and complained in a series of clanks and scrapes, but it held. Harry let out a sigh and went to the wall. Ron and Ginny reached out to him as he looked for a foothold in the dark.

Then the cables snapped and Harry was falling backwards into nothingness.


	15. Chapter 15

_Present (September, 1996)_

Harry slammed headfirst into the water. He had only a split second to twist out of the way before the elevator crashed down beside him. The consequent swell threw him hard into a wall and water filled his mouth. He kicked and came up sputtering and choking.

“Harry!”

A chorus of voices and echoes screamed his name and he looked up to see the blurry shapes of Hermione, Ron, and Ginny almost climbing out into the shaft.

“I’m here! I’m okay!” he called up, spitting rancid water.

“You scared the shit out of us!” Ginny shouted.

“We’re coming down to get you!” Ron said, looking around for a way down.

“No, Ron! It’s too dangerous! Just hold on!”

Harry raked his hand through his hair and squinted around, the squinting not doing much to help the situation. Not only was it incredibly dark, but his glasses had not survived the fall. So he was reduced to groping blindly around the shaft for minutes and minutes looking for a handhold or a ladder. After the fruitless effort, he swam back to the middle of the shaft and looked up at the friend-shaped blurs above him.

“There’s no ladder. I can’t get up. There are doors to the basement, I think,” he sighed. “Stay there and I’ll make my way up to you.”

Ginny stuttered for a moment then shrieked, “you’re cracked!”

“Thanks, Gin.”

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice was tight with worry but she spoke calmly. “You’ve lost your glasses haven’t you? You don’t know what’s down there.”

“I’ll be alright. I’ve survived worse. And besides, I have spare glasses in my pack,” Harry was already swimming away from them, to the basement doors. “Stay together. I’ll be right up.”

The echoing protests followed him into the flooded basement but eventually he was alone in the silence. He found solid ground a few meters beyond the doors and only stopped pacing around when he realized the water wasn’t going to get any shallower. Heaving his backpack onto a workbench, he fished out the spare glasses and put them on. The basement came into focus but he didn’t feel any better about the situation. The only light in the murky black-green dark was the small shoulder-torch attached to his pack.

“Alright,” he said to himself. “If I were a stairwell….”

He looked around for some sort of sign, as if luck were ever on his side. Finally, he had to just pick a direction and walk. He couldn’t wait to be dry again. His clothes stuck to his body and he was sure he was a walking Petri dish. But Ginny’s quip about trench-dick made him laugh so he managed to keep his spirits afloat.

Shortly, he found himself on one side of a gate, and the way through on the other. The door had been chained and locked over and over again. Someone had obviously been quite vigilant about keeping whatever was behind or ahead of him out. He turned in a slow circle. Spray painted above part of the gate were the words _Take A Deep Breath_ followed by an arrow pointing down.

“Huh,” said Harry. He slowly stepped forward and looked down into the water under the sign. Against the wall, there was an opening big enough for a person to swim through. It looked like let out on the other side of the gate. Behind him, he heard a distant clanging and a long, warbling moan.

He took a deep breath and dove.

Opening his eyes underwater was out of the question, so he felt along the walls with one hand, touching the ceiling above him with the other. The swim took far longer than he would have liked. When the ceiling finally disappeared above him, he shot to the surface and took in several gulps of air. And he found himself in and equally dark, but far more concerning basement room.

Veins of fungus spidered along the walls, caps of mushrooms popping out of cracks, dripping nasty globs of pus-like fungus into the water. Clouds of spores fogged Harry’s vision, making it difficult to see ahead. Through the bleakness, he felt glad that at least the others stayed behind, rather than inhaling this mess and getting themselves infected.

The only sounds were the small splashes he made as he waded through the now hip-deep water. He wandered from room to room until he found a spot where the roof had collapsed, creating a ramp up into the next level.

He muttered a few choice swears as he climbed out of the water and into the hallway above. He paused and took a moment to shake the water out of his boots. As he leaned against the wall to lace his boots, he was suddenly keenly aware that he was being watched. Heavy, panting breaths emanated from the dark void ahead.

_Stalker,_ Harry’s breath caught and he very slowly reached from the gun at his hip. The deranged creature sprang out of the darkness, covered in muck and fungus. Harry stumbled back and discharged his gun. Or at least, he tried. It clicked uselessly and then he remembered that wet gunpowder existed. The stalker barrelled into him and it took all of his strength to hold it off. Using sheer force of will, he threw it off and kicked it hard in the knee. The dead leg snapped and the stalker fell. Harry kicked it in the head, hard. It wasn’t enough to kill it, so he took the heel of his boot and, bracing his hands on the wall, crushed the skull with a wet crunch. The stalker slumped to the floor with a final gurgle. Somewhere deep in the basement, several terrible things screamed.

“Shit,” Harry set off at a fast clip. Stringy bits of fungus hung like vines above him. Along the walls, there were bodies growing gardens of mushrooms and goo. The spores thickened and soon he could hardly see five feet in front of his face. Things moved in the dark, growling and following him and staying just out of sight. Some reached for him and missed. Some he struggled with before resorting to gunfire. These things had been down here for ages and they were strong and they were vicious and they were very, very hungry.

Harry quickly became disoriented and lost in this awful maze. Panic pulsed in every vein until he threw himself against a utility cabinet, using the shelves as ladder rungs and climbing to the top. He pressed himself flat against the wall and tried to calm his rapid little breaths before he passed out. A stalker burst through a cloud of spores, looking around wildly. It panted and growled for a moment before running off again, followed by several others.

Harry let out a small sob of exhaustion and pressed his head against the top of the closet. For a few seconds, he let the panic in. It rose up in him like bile and threatened to take over. He allowed this for only a moment longer then all at once he breathed it away. 

He raised his head and took stock of the room he was in. It was silent, devoid of any breathing, save his own. A few meters away was the doorway he came through, leading back into the hallway. He took a breath and climbed quietly down from the cabinet.

Harry held his breath as he edged out into the hall, listening for any sign of movement. That’s when he saw the bare corner of a directory posted on the wall. He forced himself to walk to it instead of run, keeping light on his feet. Using the sleeve of his jacket, he cleaned off enough of the grime to find the way to the stairs.

“Thank fuck,” he sighed in the smallest whisper. The feeling of eyes was still at his back as he headed down the hall. He heard shuffling and grunting getting closer so, against everything he’d been taught on the young army, he sprinted. He threw himself against the first door he saw with a rusted sign, praying it was the door to the stairwell, and stumbled inside. He slammed the door behind him and it shook madly with the force of several bodies colliding against it. The undead shrieked and clawed at the door, and Harry fled. They weren’t smart enough to use handles, but he didn’t want to be there just in case they muscled their way through.

He looked around, his chest heaving. With a feeling of manic relief, he began to climb the stairs. Getting very tired of being soggy and sticky, Harry quickly changed his clothes before he opened the door to the third floor, where, hopefully, his friends would be waiting for him. The air coming in from the broken windows washed over him, clean and blessedly free of rot.

As he walked through the halls, he saw the shadow of a large bird swoop past the window and he was painfully reminded of Hedwig. She’d been missing since the storm in the forest, and though Harry knew she was a wild animal and was probably better off untethered, he still missed her. He reached for the Snitch whistle around his neck then remembered it had a new home next to Ginny’s heart. She’d taken to blowing the whistle every time they were in a wooded area, or at least near one, searching the skies hopefully. One day she’d forgotten to give it back, and Harry hadn’t minded. A silent agreement had been made.

A floorboard creaked and Harry dropped behind a pile of rubbish.

“They still haven’t found those kids,” a rough voice said not too far away.

“That’s two hunts gone wrong in a week,” said another voice. “These new guys are getting more and more of us killed.”

“Yeah, well,” the first voice paused to spit, “they’ll be dealt with.”

Harry held his breath and was dismayed as he heard their footsteps move towards him instead of away. He took out his knife and waited, making himself as small as possible. The two men passed and he slowly got up from his hiding place, creeping backwards before darting down the hall, away from them. He was grateful, at least, to find out that the others still hadn’t been caught yet. Finding them was his only problem. It wasn’t as if he could call out to them. He decided getting back to the lobby was a start. That way he could retrace his steps from before and hopefully run into them.

Long shadows stretched across the halls from the quickly waning sun. Harry shivered from a frigid gust and rounded a corner. He found himself in the doorway of a massive dining room. The many tables had been overturned and used as barricades. Some were eerily just as they had been before the chaos; glasses perfectly positioned next to plates; cutlery lined up side by side; napkins rolled and decorated with a ring in the middle. Harry wandered over to one such table and knocked over a single wine glass, thinking only of Petunia and how it would have driven her mad.

As he stuffed a few cloth napkins into his bag to use as bandages, he spotted a ladder badly hidden behind some tables. He dragged the thing out from its hiding spot, praying for quiet but making a good deal of noise anyway, and found a spot to put it; against a bit of broken staircase. He steadied it against the wall and began to climb.

And he promptly received a hard boot to the face when he reached the top. He flew backwards and fell into a deep pool of water. His one and only thought was that he couldn’t believe he was soaking wet _again._ He sat up and drew his gun, trying to get on his feet, but the assailant had already jumped down. Harry’s vision exploded as he was struck again and his gun fired far above their heads. He fell back and the hunter was on him, forcing his head into the water.

Harry thrashed and struggled hard against him. His lungs burned and he clawed desperately for the gun, just out of reach. The hunter grabbed his wrist and pinned it down. Harry’s heart pounded louder and louder and his vision began to darken.

Suddenly the weight was lifted and he sprang up, trying to gulp in air and hack up water at the same time. There was a shot and the sound of a body hitting the ground. He looked up to see Ginny standing above him.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he sat back on his elbows and coughed, grinning up at her.

“You look like shit,” Ginny replied and tossed his gun over to him.

Ron looked over his shoulder as he helped Hermione down the ladder. “I told you it was Harry.” 

“Harry,” Hermione pressed a hand over her chest as if to calm her heart. “You’re alright.”

“That might be an exaggeration,” Harry spit out some water and slowly stood, touching the bleeding cut on his face.

“Well you’re not dead at least,” Hermione corrected herself. “Now can we get out of this hotel?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded and holstered his gun. “Let’s go.”

Ginny fell into step beside him, “That was a rotten thing you did, scaring us all like that.”

“Sorry,” he said with a little smile. “I had a nice long talk with that lift about dropping out from under people.”

“Fuck you,” Ginny grinned and pushed him. “Did you find anything in your adventures in the basement?”

“Not really. Stalkers and clickers mostly,” Harry replied. “Actually, there was a directory and I did see an exit sign. I might be able to find the way out.”

“Brilliant!” Hermione’s voice was shrill and fragile sounding. Harry took a long look at her. The shadows on her face had deepened. She looked tight as a wire and Ron didn’t look much better. They all needed a wash, some food, and a long, long rest. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t see that happening until they got out of the city.

“Did you run into any trouble while I was down there?” Harry asked.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” said Ginny with a shrug.

“Good. As soon as we get out of here, we need to find somewhere to sleep for the night.”

“Agreed,” Ron said wearily. “I could sleep for ages.”

The foursome trudged through the halls until, finally, they found a kitchen and at the far end there was a service door that actually looked usable. Hermione gave a small cry of relief. Even Harry’s knees went a little weak at the sight of it. Using every teaspoon of restraint in their bodies, they very quietly made their way to the door.

Harry gave it a shake and sighed, “Locked from the outside.”

Hermione opened her mouth with her ‘I have an idea’ face but Ron solved the problem easily with a swift, hard kick. The door crashed open and, after sharing looks of amusement, fled the scene. They heard voices from the upper levels of the hotel and bullets pelted the building around them. They ran for several blocks in the direction of the bridge, but fatigue soon caught up with them and Harry gestured to a mostly standing apartment building.

“Fire escape,” he panted, cupping his hands under the ladder so one of them could step up. Ginny stepped into his hands and pulled the ladder down. One by one they all climbed up to the top floor of the building. Harry wedged open the window and hopped through.

Then he was grabbed violently around the back and thrown into the middle of the room like a ragdoll. He yelped and fell gracelessly to the floor.

“Harry!”

His attacker sprang on him, a baseball bat bearing down on his throat and choking him. Harry, weakened and dehydrated, kicked and fought as hard as he could but couldn’t throw them.

“Cedric, stop!” an unfamiliar voice shouted above the noise. “Stop!”

The pressure on Harry’s neck lifted and he rolled over, coughing and wheezing. Above him there were gasps and laughter and the music of happy voices. Ginny came to him and helped him sit up.

“I guess these people are friends,” she murmured nodding to where Hermione was embracing another girl. The tall, burly guy who had jumped him was grinning and shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m going to stay on the floor,” Harry sagged against Ginny. Hermione was talking faster than he’d imagined possible, explaining every detail to them at lightning speed. When she paused to take a breath, Ron interjected.

“Hermione, aren’t you going to introduce us?” he crossed his arms, looking miffed. He was standing awkwardly, almost as if he were trying to look taller.

“Oh!” she said as though the thought had just occurred to her. “Cedric, Cho, this is Ron and Ginny Weasley, and Harry Potter.”

“Harry _Potter?_ ” Cedric raised his eyebrows, then quickly looked at Ginny and Ron. “Sorry, chuffed to meet you but, _Harry bloody Potter._ ”

“I’ve always wanted to know my middle name. ‘Bloody’ is a bit old fashioned though, isn’t it?” Harry stood, with help from Ginny (who also had the decency to be the only person who laughed.)

“Cho Chang,” the girl with the long dark hair held out her hand, looking awed. “Very nice to meet you.”

She was Scottish, freckles on her nose, not the tallest, but taller than Hermione by some. She smiled shyly and Harry’s cheeks warmed.

“Cedric Diggory. Sorry I threw you around like that. And, you know, tried to kill you,” Cedric shook Harry’s hand enthusiastically.

“That’s alright. You’re not the first one to try,” Harry said good-naturedly.

Cedric laughed, an easy smile that came to his face quite naturally.

“You all must have travelled a long way to get here,” Cho said, offering Ron a granola bar (he devoured it without taking a breath.)

“You’ve no idea,” Ginny ran her fingers through her hair, then looked appalled when she found a leaf in it.

“Let’s get away from the windows,” Cedric suggested. “There’s an office down the hall that we’ve been hiding out in.”

“Good idea,” said Hermione. Harry didn’t think he could take another step, but with a gentle nudge from Ron, he managed to follows the others down the hall. They rounded the corner into the promised office space. Cedric took a key out of his pocket and locked the door once everyone was inside.

“Where did you get _that?_ ” Ginny raised an eyebrow as she shook off her backpack.

“Knicked it,” said Cedric.

“Off a walker,” said Cho.

“Bitchin,” said Ginny.

Harry sat down and shrugged off his pack for the first time that day. Ginny collapsed on one side of him, and Ron on the other. Hermione sat with Cho and Cedric, and though they hadn’t been traveling together long, Harry felt a small pang of disappointment. The blue dusk was slipping away to a black night sky. They didn’t dare light a fire in case they were spotted. Harry didn’t think he’d survive another chase. The silence stretched as they all settled in.

“So,” Harry said after a moment or two of staring at one another, “I supposed we can go first.”

Cedric laughed weakly, “Sorry. We’re all a bit stunned, I think. We thought we’d never see Hermione again. And with a legend, no less”

“Where should we start?” Harry looked between Ron and Ginny.

“Where have you been all this time?” Cho spoke up first, looking like she was bursting with questions.

Harry nodded slowly and relaxed against the wall, “Very well then….I guess we’ll start with Surrey.”

Cedric and Cho listened with wide eyes that only seemed to widen further. A few times they looked to Hermione, who nodded and added a few supplemental facts when they were called for.

“So you really are immune,” Cho came closer to look at Harry’s scar, her hands hovering over his arm. “Incredible.”

“What about you lot?” Ginny said sharply, her hazel eyes zeroing in on Cho with that watchful gaze of hers. “Where have you been? How did you get here?”

“Well…I’m sure Hermione told you, we got separated in a flash flood,” Cho started. Harry and the Weasleys glanced at Hermione who had not, in fact, told them.

“An oversight,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t really of consequence, was it?”

“So you were separated,” Harry breezed past the awkwardness.

“We were separated,” said Cho. “And after that we decided to continue with the mission, like you said. But we lost Mundungus’”

“Mundungus?” said Ron. “Sounds like some sort of rash.”

“He was an arms dealer who sold off weapons we had already paid for,” Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

“Yeah. But we’d lost his trail after the storm,” Cedric spoke next, “and we were running out of supplies, so Cormac and Dean stayed behind at this old radio tower while Cho and I came here to do some scouting.”

“You left _Cormac_ with _Dean?_ ” Hermione looked both aghast and amused.

“We drew straws,” said Cedric flatly.

“Anyway. We told them to wait there and if we didn’t come back in three days, they should go back to camp,” Cho folded her hands and clasped them tightly. “We’ve been here two days. If we’re not back by tomorrow night they’ll go out on their own.”

“Or the more likely scenario is they’ll come looking for us,” said Cedric. “You know Dean.”

Hermione was quiet and thoughtful for a moment. Then she sighed, pursed her lips, sighed again.

“The bridge isn’t much farther, is it?” Harry spoke, rubbing his lower lip in concentration. “If we can cross it, it’ll be much easier to travel the woods back to the radio tower.”

Cedric nodded enthusiastically, “Cho and I have been monitoring the guards. Around midnight the guard at the bridge is down to a skeleton crew. Only five or six hunters that we could see.”

“Then that’s our opportunity,” Harry said. “Tonight we get out of here.”

 

When Harry was awakened from a deep sleep later that night, he very seriously considered pretending to be dead. Those four short hours were not enough to melt away the exhaustion from that afternoon and, frankly, he was quite sick of being sleep deprived.

“Come on, Harry,” Ron gave him another shove when he noticed Harry’s hesitation. “We’ve got to go.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry yawned and stretched. He winced at the twinge in his shoulder and reminded himself not to jump off any more elevators in the future. He found Cedric, Cho, and Ginny crouched in a circle, counting ammo in a slice of moonlight.

“Hermione said to keep the flashlights off. It’d attract too much attention,” Ron whispered, sliding a clip back into his gun.

“What’s the plan?” Harry rubbed his eyes sleepily.

“We pair off,” Cedric replied. “Two is harder to spot than six. When we get to the guard tower, we’ll try to keep it quiet. Hopefully we can take down the sentries and make it out without causing too much of a scene.”

“But that’s best case scenario,” Ginny said dryly. “Chances are there will be gunfire.”

“So what’s Plan B then?”

“Stick with your partner and haul ass across the bridge,” Cedric smirked.

“Not much of a plan,” Harry sighed.

“But it’s all we’ve got,” Hermione stood and inspected the tip of an arrow. “Ready?”

After a bolted down breakfast, the small exodus left their encampment. Nighttime creatures moved quietly alongside them, stirring leaves with their various claws, paws, and tails. The city breathed deep sighs in long steady gusts of autumn wind as fires winked like fireflies in broken windows. Twice they passed groups of hunters. Harry and Cedric broke off once to take care of them before they were seen. And the second time, Hermione picked off a group one by one from a darkened perch in the trees.

They found the gate to the bridge at a quarter to one. It was just as Cho and Cedric had said. Only a few sleepy guards remained between them and their exit. They slouched lazily against posts and played cards in a manner that suggested no one ever quite made it this close to the bridge.

“Alright,” Cedric whispered as they crouched behind a barricade of cars a few yards from the gate. Harry, you go with Ron. Hermione with Ginny, and Cho you’re with me.”

Harry nodded, relieved his choice between the Weasley siblings and Hermione had been made for him.

Their directions were simple; Harry and Ron would go first, banking left to keep out of the searchlight that was, at the moment, at fixed focus down the center of the street. Cedric and Cho would follow next, and Hermione and Ginny would lag behind. As the two with the sharpest aim, they could quickly pick off the guards from the rear if things got hairy. Once the first two groups were close enough, they would ambush the guards.

All this in mind, Harry was still nervous as he and Ron crept forward. He had run stealth drills for weeks back in Surrey. Ron, unfortunately, had not. Although his baseball cap hid his bright orange hair, it did nothing for his lanky limbs and the fact that he had to almost crawl to keep out of sight.

And then the searchlight swung in their direction and Harry grabbed Ron’s arm to stop him from moving. Harry’s heart was in his throat and the moment yawned as he heard the low murmur of voices from the gate. A gunshot cracked over their heads, causing Harry to metaphorically shit his pants.

“You get him?” a lazy voice drawled from the dark.

“Nah,” another disembodied voice replied.

Over the sound of his own heart and Ron’s panicked breaths, he heard the wet snarls of a walker somewhere behind them.

“It’s stuck in that barbed wire back there,” the first voice said. “Someone go get it before it attracts more.”

The was sullen grumbling as they decided who would go take care of the problem. Harry looked backwards to where Cho and Cedric were hiding. Cho’s eyes were wide and she and Cedric were whispering back and forth. Cedric looked at Harry and mouthed stay there.

Harry put a vice grip around Ron’s arm and motioned for him to stay put. His thoughts were flying through his head. There was something about the sound of that gunshot that had unsettled him. He slowly sat up to look through the broken windows of the car. Taking out Ginny’s spyglass, he saw what had so unnerved him. There was a fifty-caliber mounted gun at the top of the sentry gate. He’d seen the ammo for that kind of weapon; the length of it measured from his wrist to his finger tip plus some.

He looked at Cedric, infuriated that they hadn’t been warned. Cedric seemed confused but after a bit of embarrassing pantomimes and angrily mouthed words, he understood. And paled. He shook his head, eyes rounded with horror.

Harry was only slightly mollified that Cedric was unaware. It didn’t change the plan, it just meant it was now even more crucial to avoid a melee. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny come up onto one knee and put her rifle against her shoulder. She looked at Harry, her eyes focused and determined, but she waited. He looked around at his friends who were stock still, frozen in fear and confusion. He raised his eyes to Ginny and gave her a nod.

The shot was true and they heard the sound of a body, however it was also followed by the sound of shocked rage.

“Find them!” someone shouted. The few hunters were in the street in moments and one look from Ron told him that the only way out of this was a fight.

“Stay low, weave, don’t let that gun hit you,” said Harry, grabbing Ron’s arm tightly for a brief moment before springing out from his hiding spot and shooting a man dead.

The fight was hard and fast. Harry was barely aware of his friends fighting for their lives around him. All he knew was that he needed to stay away from that gun. He heard it fire only a few times before the fight was over. He learned later, that had been Hermione. She stayed back and shot anyone who got close to manning it.

“Are you fucking _crazy?_ ” Ron roared at Ginny. “What were you thinking?”

Harry tried uselessly to intervene, “Ron, I thought she--”

“I had to!” Ginny shot back before Harry had finished. “What else was I supposed to do? Nobody was moving, tip-toeing around wouldn’t have worked, and we _still_ would have ended up in a fight!”

“She has a point—”

“Shut _up,_ Hermione!” Ron shouted.

“Hey!” Cedric raised his voice, something Harry hadn’t thought possible from this soft spoken boy. “What’s done is done. Can we go now? Please?”

He phrased it as a question but everyone knew it wasn’t. They all shuffled to the gate, their nerves electric, ready to finally leave this terrible place behind. Cedric lifted the big-ass crossbar and every light in a five meter radius turned on, along with an ear-splitting alarm.

“Can we ever catch a fucking break?” Ron sobbed, saying aloud what everyone else was thinking.

Voices mingled with walker screeches as both living and dead converged on them. The six of them took off through the gate, only to be met with another blockade. 

“Cedric!” Cho cried, her gun shaking in her hand.

“I’m looking!” Cedric spun wildly, looking for a way out.

“Help me shut this!” Harry said to anyone who was listening, trying to close the heavy metal gate. Through the crack, Harry saw hunters coming. He ducked out of the way just as a bullet made contact with the gate. Ron slammed the crossbar shut and looked at Harry.

“We’re not going to die,” Harry panted.

“This way!” Cedric shouted at them. He stood under a sawed off ladder attached to the semi-truck blocking their way. Cho was already on top and Hermione was climbing up next. Ginny had her rifled knocked against her shoulder again, firing up at the sentry tower. Harry looked back in time to see a hunter fall backwards off of it before he could reach the .50cal.

“Go, you next,” Harry gave Ginny a shove towards Cedric.

She didn’t protest, only stepped into Cedric’s cupped hands. There was a spray of gunshots and several fist-sized holes appeared in the side of the semi.

Hermione shot at the man in the sentry tower and missed, dropping onto the top of the truck to avoid getting shot. Harry sent Ron up after Ginny, against his protests. Cedric and Harry shared a moment’s glance.

“You go,” Cedric said, not moving from his spot. “You’re more important.”

“I’ll reach down and grab you,” Harry stepped into his hands, knowing he wouldn’t be able to boost Cedric from below anyway. The notion that he was important, let alone more important than someone else, flickered at the edge of his mind. He might have laughed if they weren’t about to be shot. He pushed the uncomfortable feeling away; a thought for another time.

“There’s not time,” Cedric started.

“Don’t be a fucking hero, you stay there,” Harry shot back. Cedric laughed quietly and shook his head. They could hear the sound of a battering ram on the other side of the gate as Harry reached the top of the truck. He fell to his stomach and reached down to Cedric. Cedric jumped and grabbed onto Harry’s wrists. Ginny and Ron hauled them both up just as the gates bowed under the pressure behind them.

The bloodthirsty shadows of the hunters danced through the crack in the gate, firing shots at them. Suddenly Ron cried out, swearing and clutching his shoulder. Blood dribbled over his fingers and his panicked eyes found Harry.

“Run! Run now!” Harry jumped down from the truck, waving them on. One by one they jumped down and hit the ground running. Hermione clung tight to Ron, pressing her hand over his to staunch the blood. Obstructions appeared in the darkness and the sound of metal crashing on metal signaled the opening of the gate. If they could cross the bridge they could lose the hunters in the forest. Harry clung to that thought right up until he reached the jagged edge of the broken bridge.

“Shit!” he skidded to a stop, throwing his arms out before Cho and Ginny careened into the black water below.

“What do we do?” Hermione wailed.

“How many bullets do you guys have?” Ron asked, looking frantically behind him.

“We can’t fight all of them,” Harry ran his fingers through his hair.

“Can we jump?” Ginny looked down into the rushing water.

“No,” Cedric shook his head. “It’s too high.”

“And I can’t swim,” said Cho.

“Show of hands, who actually can swim?” Ron asked, raising his uninjured arm. Only two other hands went up. Cedric and Harry.

“Hermione, really?”

“I don’t like deep water, you know that! And we can’t jump anyway it’s impossible!”

Harry could heard the sound of the hunter’s pack coming closer.

“We don’t have time for this!” he and Ginny said at the same time. Ginny stared him down with a hard look in her eye and he shut his mouth.

“One thing I’ve learned from living with Fred and George, is that anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve,” she said, with the look of one who was about to do something absolutely mad. With that, she turned and leapt off the lip of the bridge into the rushing water.

Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach and without a backwards glance at the others, he shoved his glasses into his pocket and jumped after her.

The cold water swallowed him, slapping the air out of his lungs as he thrashed uselessly against the current. His eyes strained through the darkness as he searched for Ginny.

“Ginny!” he sputtered, cold and fear numbing him to his core. “Ginny!”

“Harry!” Ginny’s hand found his in the dark. Her head was barely above the water, her pale face stretched towards the sky. Harry grabbed her around the middle and pulled her tight to him, keeping her afloat with his own body. He heard the faint voices of the others somewhere behind them. The river suddenly dropped out from under them, throwing Harry against a rock. The last thing he heard before he slipped into blackness was someone screaming.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus! I hope a double chapter update will make up for it! I've been very excited about these two chapters, and I really hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

_Present (October, 1996)_

In Harry’s professional opinion, passing out was definitely easier than coming to. He shot painfully to the surface of consciousness and to the feeling of an intense pressure on his chest. He opened his eyes and saw Hermione performing chest compressions on him, curls flying free around her face. He found that odd, the chest compressions. That is, until he realized the burning sensation in his lungs meant he had probably inhaled a good lungful of water and hadn’t been breathing. He quickly rectified the situation by rolling onto his side and hacking the water out into the sand.

“Oh thank goodness,” Hermione breathed.

Harry groaned in reply. He would have much rather gone to sleep there in the dirt, but the sound of fighting drew him back. He sat up with help from Hermione, and saw Ginny and Ron finishing off three walkers.

“Harry’s awake!” Hermione called to them as they checked each other for wounds.

“Harry!” Ginny and Ron both bounded over. Ron cradled one arm close to him. The wound had been dressed but the bandages were already stained copper-red with blood.

“Are you alright?” Harry croaked.

Ron smirked, “Aside from the obvious?”

“We’re fine,” said Ginny, raking back her damp hair.

A cold knot settled in Harry’s stomach as he looked around the beach, “Where are Cedric and Cho?” He got unsteadily to his feet.

Hermione caught his arm before he fell over, “They scouted ahead to find shelter. They haven’t been long.”

“Good,” Harry put on his glasses and looked behind them. The bridge lay in the mist, illuminated by eerie white lights, silent and watching. He searched the beach and the woods for flashlights.

“We weren’t followed,” Ron assured him. “Relax, mate.”

He almost laughed at that. He didn’t say that if he relaxed for even a nanosecond, there was a strong possibility he would disintegrate. He did, however, breathe a deep sigh of relief.

“We jumped off a bridge,” he smiled wanly.

“Yeah, we did,” Ron laughed, putting his hands on his knees in exhausted relief.

“That was stupid of us,” Harry rolled his shoulder to test it, and hissed sharply at the stabbing pain.

“Well,” Ginny crossed her arms and flicked her wet hair out of her face, “we’re alive, aren’t we?”

“We are,” Harry agreed. “And, before you say it, you’re right. We wouldn’t have made it if we hadn’t jumped.”

“Although I don’t recommend we do _anything_ like that again,” Hermione shuddered and hugged her damp sweater around herself. She looked at Harry. “How do you feel?”

“Oh, excellent,” Harry smiled ruefully. “Which way did Cho and Cedric go? We can meet them on their way back.”

“Harry, you shouldn’t push yourself,” Ginny said.

“I’m not,” Harry picked up his backpack and dropped it immediately, a spasm of pain taking his breath for a moment. “I’m not.” He insisted to the three doubtful faces.

Using his other arm, he hauled his pack up and started walking before they could gang up on him. The riverbank was cold and quiet and indigo dark as they picked their way through rocks and rubbish. Harry shone his flashlight across the water and marveled that they hadn’t been killed. There was still the possibility of hypothermia or, you know, the undead. 

But at least now Harry could add ‘jumping from a bridge into raging waters’ to the list of Things That Had Tried To Kill Him But Didn’t.

“Watch it,” Ron came to his side, gun raised. A walker had spotted them from across the river and was shambling into the water, arms outstretched.

“Leave it,” Harry put a hand on Ron’s arm. “It can’t reach us. We can’t afford to attract the attention.”

As he spoke, the current dragged the walker down and swept it away.

“Hey!”

They all started as Cedric and Cho appeared from the darkness.

“You’re all right,” Cho greeted Harry brightly.

“We were worried about you for a moment there,” Cedric clapped him on the back. “Oh sorry, Harry.” He added when the clap unsteadied him.

“Did you find anything?” Harry asked, letting Cedric hold onto his elbow to keep him from toppling over.

“A pipe.”

“A _pipe?_ ”

“A drainage pipe,” Cedric elaborated. “A few meters north. It’s fairly large actually. We think it lets out closer to the radio tower.”

“How do you figure?” Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“It’s got to let out somewhere, right?” Cedric shrugged. “Why not close to the tower?”

“Sound logic,” she said flatly.

Cho stepped in then, “It seems like the safest option. “Besides, we think the tower gets its power from a water wheel. So. Water, tunnel, wheel, tower.”

This made sense to Harry but he didn’t know enough about water or wheels or power to form an opinion.

“Through…through the _sewers though._ ” Ron grimaced.

“If I didn’t think it was safe, I wouldn’t suggest it,” Cho said bitingly. “It’s out of the weather and we banged around the grate for a bit and nothing came running”

“Cedric?” Hermione looked to him in the same moment both Weasleys looked to Harry, their eyebrows raised. He shrugged. He was happy to let someone else make the decisions. The weight of leadership was never something he wanted or asked for anyway.

“I agree with Cho,” Cedric looked at each of them in turn. “When you see it, you’ll feel the same.”

Hermione nodded slowly and raised an eyebrow at the others. “Well?”

“Let’s go then,” said Harry. “We don’t have time to waste.”

So the soggy group set off, two by two, walking down the marshy riverbank, through the frosty morning mist.

“How are you doing?” Cho fell back next to Harry as they climbed over a pile of mossy stones.

“Sore,” he admitted. “A bit dizzy, but I’ll survive.”

“Good,” Cho smiled. “We’d hate to lose you at this point.”

Again with that notion. That ‘losing him’ would be of consequence.

“Thanks,” Harry managed a small smirk.

He almost didn’t see the tunnel entrance when they finally reached it, it was so covered in ivy and overgrown shrub. By that time it had begun to drizzle and his hair stuck flat to his head. Hermione was struggling to throw her hair back into some kind of plait but it seemed futile. In any case, they were soaking wet and miserable again and their only hope of reprieve was inside the tunnels.

“Here,” Cedric pointed his torch through the rain to an outcropping of rocks.

The overgrown reeds and grass partially obscured it but Harry could see that the grate itself was massive. However, the bars were close enough together that it didn’t look like anyone could get through. Which was a good sign. Hopefully nothing dead was creeping around inside.

“It was locked,” Cho stooped and picked up said lock, “but we broke it off just to see if we could.”

“As one does,” said Harry.

“That gate looks like a fuck though,” Ron commented. “I’m guessing the lads will be doing the heavy lifting then.”

“Ron, you’ve been _shot, remember?_ ” Ginny reminded him. “Also fuck you.”

“Ginny, Harry, will you help me lift the grate?” Cedric asked mildly, trying to quell the situation before it got out of hand.

“Got it,” Harry nodded and stood between Cedric and Ginny. Harry’s muscles screamed as he helped lift the enormous grate.

“All right,” Cedric hissed through gritted teeth. “Go.”

Ron, Hermione, and Cho quickly climbed through the space in the grate and flicked on their flashlights. After that, Ginny, Harry, and Cedric took turns scrambling into the pipe. First Ginny; Harry made her go before Cedric could start with that ‘you’re important’ nonsense again. Harry followed, and Cedric took up the rear. As they closed the gate, slowly to avoid making noise, the strain of it became too much and Harry’s vision blurred. He staggered back against the tunnel wall, a cold sweat beading on his forehead.

“Harry!” Ginny dropped to her knees beside him.

“I-I’m all right,” Harry tried to wave her off but she caught his hand. She gripped it tightly and he felt as if she was grounding him.

“He’s exhausted, can’t you see that?” Ron was livid, fists clenched. “He looks like shit, he feels like shit, and he needs to _rest!_ ”

“But Dean and Cormac will leave if we don’t get to them _today,_ ” Cho said, slowly and evenly, as if she were holding back her temper.

“How do you know they haven’t already left?” Ron shot back.

“Ron, I’m fine,” said Harry, wondering why he kept telling people this. “I can keep going.”

“No, you _can’t,_ ” Ginny shook her head.

“Maybe Cedric and Cho can go ahead?” Hermione offered. “Meet Dean and Cormac before they leave.”

“I don’t like it,” Cedric looked at Harry, deep concern on his face. “If he says he can make it…”

Arguments exploded around him, multiplied by the echoing up and down the tunnel. Ginny was standing now, railing on Cedric who had his hands up in submission as he attempted to back away. Ron was going in on Cho and Hermione, the latter desperately trying to please both sides while they mostly ignored her and argued with each other.

Harry stood, getting his breath back, “Guys, stop it. Please.”

That’s when three walkers threw themselves against the grate, snarling and stretching their arms through the gaps and startling everyone into silence.

“If it were any of you up there in that tower, I wouldn’t want you waiting for another second,” Harry said with finality. “We carry on together and we _stop_ rowing like children.”

Five sullen heads nodded and, with a last glance at the undead, they made their way down the tunnel. They walked in silence for several meters, listening to the sound of water flowing somewhere in the distance.

“Aren’t sewers supposed to be full of like…shit?” Ron asked finally.

“Well, for one thing, this isn’t a sewer,” Hermione replied, wrinkling her nose. “It’s a storm drain. That means runoff and rainwater run out into the river.”

“You could have mentioned that sooner,” said Ron. “I’ve been holding my breath waiting to be knee deep in all sorts.”

“Is there a point to your whining?” Hermione asked, investigating some writing on the wall. “I didn’t think I needed to announce this is a storm drain.”

“I’m not whining!” Ron cried in a voice that made Harry disagree. He didn’t know quite where to put himself. He was so used to being at the head of the group, but now that was where Cedric and Cho were. And he didn’t dare lag behind or everyone would start to worry again. So he hovered off to the side, trying to look like he was interested in their surroundings and not just trying to stave off exhaustion.

“Look at this,” Cho said, breaking off from the group to inspect something on the wall. They followed her curiously to see what she was looking at. There were several bullet holes in the wall, right about eye level for Harry.

“Someone else has been down here,” Harry said what everyone else was coming to realize. “And if the front gate was locked…”

“If anyone’s died down here,” said Cedric grimly, “they’re liable to still be lurking about. And they’ll be hungry.”

Harry swallowed hard and reached back to touch the end of his baseball bat. The group fell silent and drew just a bit closer together. The way ahead was black as pitch, and the sound of water drowned out any footsteps they might have been able to pick up. They all came to a stop as the tunnel split off into two equally dark and ominous paths. It was decided that since one path curved slightly more towards the radio tower, that it was probably the best route. No one mentioned the moss covered skeleton as they passed it by. A small alcove appeared in the side of the tunnel only a few meters in. It may have been maintenance room in a past life, but it had been converted into a bedroom of sorts. There was a cot, some old clothes, shoes. At first it looked empty, but as they passed, Harry saw the emaciated corpse of a walker sitting down in the corner. It turned its head as they walked by and weakly reached out an arm. Harry felt pity well up in him and he looked away.

The tunnel ended quite suddenly with a closed door.

“So…we open the door,” Ginny said, making no move to do so.

“We open the door,” Cedric took out his gun and went to the door, pressing himself flat behind it. “Get ready.”

He jiggled the handle, then in a move of dexterity that both shocked and impressed Harry, Cedric lifted his leg and kicked the rusted handle off. They paused. Listened. The door opened a crack and they heard only silence.

“Okay. Let’s keep going,” Cedric didn’t holster his weapon as he pushed open the door. “Alright, Harry?”

Harry didn’t have the chance to answer; there was a snap as a crate full of glass and other extremely loud things emptied itself from a perch above them.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron said, his hands over his ears.

“A noise trap,” Ginny walked over to it, pointing to the rope and pulley system attached to the door. “A bit rudimentary. Fred and George have better ones.”

A chorus of shrieks echoed from the darkness and the shadows began to move.

“Eyes up,” Cedric raised his gun.

“That’s going to echo like a bitch, you know that?” Ron said, drawing his crossbow.

Cedric grumbled something, then jerked out of the way as one of Ron’s arrows whizzed past his ear, striking something dead in the dark. Ron, after having shown off like an ass, went to Cedric and handed him one of his long hunting knives. Harry and Ginny drew their bats as the first wave of walkers burst into the beams of their flashlights. Harry could tell that Ginny was purposely putting herself in the path of any walkers that came toward him. He was grateful, considering that if he swung his bat, his arm might actually fall off from the pain of it. Cho and Hermione had teamed up brilliantly. Cho stood just in front of Hermione, shining her light on the oncoming walkers, leaving Hermione free to shoot them down with her longbow.

“We’re gonna get cornered,” Cedric called back to them as he stabbed one of the knife through a walker’s head. “Let’s try to push through and find some high ground or maybe a door that’s not broken.”

“Harry?” Ginny looked at him. His breathing was steady but labored and the edges of his vision had gone a bit blurry yet they had no choice but to keep going.

“We’ve got you, mate,” Ron had a fierce look in his eyes as they began to press forward. The incoming walkers started to thin, and the group did their best to keep from making any more noise than they had to. The tunnel opened up into a series of maze-like cells and gated off antechambers set up like bedrooms or washrooms or dining areas. There were personal items like journals and pictures and books sitting abandoned. Some things had been overturned, but everything else seemed still, as if everyone had gone out for a moment and were coming right back.

“This is a graveyard,” Cho murmured, tears welling up in her eyes as she picked up an abandoned doll. “Children lived here.”

Cedric took Cho’s hand, a muscle in his jaw tightening. “There should be a back door around here somewhere.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Harry’s voice echoed in the dark room. The others nodded slowly in solemn agreement. This was not a place to be pillaged.

They left the ghost city behind them and ventured deeper into the catacombs. Three hours had passed since they had entered the tunnels, according to Ginny’s pocket watch. They rested, ate a few mouthfuls of cold tinned soup, then kept moving. The underground city was expansive, even though they must have passed through only a small part. There were maps on the walls, charts, and drawings. Handwritten notes were pinned to doorways, reminding Cressida that she had laundry duty that day, or telling Dawlish to meet with the security council at noon.

There were other things too. Like bodies. Some had been mauled and ravaged by walkers, others were still asleep in their cots. Once, Harry wandered into a room full of colorful toys and games and paintings on the walls, much like the nursery school he had attended in Surrey. On one side of the room was a chalkboard with a hastily scribbled message on it: _I’m sorry I couldn’t save them. They didn’t feel anything._

His stomach sinking, he shone his flashlight deeper into the room. There was another body, unsurprisingly. An adult slouched against the wall with a gun in his hand and blood spatter painted behind him. Then Harry saw the body of a small child in his lap, and two more lying curled up on the floor, pillows under their heads as if they were only napping. All three had bullet wounds to the head. With a cold shudder that pierced through him, Harry quickly closed the door and said nothing about it to the others.

“They were overrun,” Hermione was saying as he rejoined the group. “So many of them turned or knew there was no escape so they…er.”

“Shot themselves,” Cho said, with forced calm in her voice.

“That begs the question,” Ginny started, raising her hand in the air as if in school.

“Don’t say it,” groaned Ron.

“Where did they all go?” she finished, in spite of her brother’s interruption.

That was exactly the question Harry hadn’t brought himself to say out loud. There had to be scores of people living belowground. Where _had_ they all gone?

As if to answer their question, the sound of clickers reached them through the dark. The whole place echoed with them. The group slowed to a crawl and they drew their weapons, Ron handing Cedric his hunting knife. Harry could hear the shuffling of walkers, and the quivering, frantic panting of stalkers, but he couldn’t see any of them. He knew it was only a matter of time before one of the creatures with sight would spot their flashlights and pounce. Cedric reached back and touched his hand, making his stomach leap in a way he didn’t particularly want to analyze at the moment. Cedric nodded towards a pair of double doors marked with an exit sign a few meters away. If they could get through the doors, they would be able to bar them from the other side and they would be home free.

But of course, they were never that lucky. Through the murk and mist, Harry saw a ghastly face staring at him from behind a pillar. The milky, hollow eyes focused and its lips peeled back in a snarl. Then its jaw seemed to unhinge and a dreadful screech filled the air. Cedric shouted at them to stay close and they were all sprinting again. Harry’s body flashed hot and cold as he struggled to keep up. Hands pawed at him from all sides. First, a walker’s, then Ron’s as he hauled him forward, into the center of the group. He heard someone fire their gun. The doors slammed open, and Ginny slammed them shut again.

“They won’t hold!” someone, possibly Cho, shouted. “Up, we have to go up!”

Up. Through a fog, Harry saw a half-collapsed metal ramp going up around an old gated elevator shaft. Up was good. Up meant out. Cedric was boosting everyone again; Ginny first, then Cho, then Ron, Hermione. Harry didn’t recall stepping into Cedric’s cupped hands, but he must have because he was suddenly slouched against the wall shivering as Ginny shook him.

“Harry, stay with me,” she was saying. “Look at me!”

He blinked and looked at her. Her eyes were wide and her freckles stood out sharply against her pale face. The doors exploded open below them and the massive hoard of the undead slammed themselves against the metal ramp, shaking it.

“Come _on!_ ” Ginny grabbed Harry’s arm and dragged him to his feet. He followed her, mustering enough focus to keep his eyes on his feet so he didn’t trip. He could feel the pounding of the hoard behind them. They must have crawled over one another to get up the ramp.

“The door’s blocked from the outside! Cedric, do something!” He heard Hermione shout from up ahead. He looked up and saw sunlight pouring in from the windows. They were blocked with razor wire, which is why no one was smashing them. But there was a small, rectangular window above the locked door, unobstructed and partially open.

“The window,” he pointed up at it with a trembling hand. “Cedric.” That was all he needed to say. Cedric nodded and he waved Cho over. She stepped into his hands and shimmied through the window. Gunshots exploded around him as the others opened fire at the walkers coming through the door. He drew his gun and tried to aim, and failed. Everything was underwater, muffled and slow. Harry took out his bat and started swinging at whatever got near enough. He managed to land a few good hits before tendrils of darkness started to take over his vision. Light burst from somewhere behind him. His knees buckled and he felt someone catch him. Then he felt nothing at all.


	17. Chapter 17

_Present (October, 1996)_

Harry’s first thought upon waking up, was that it was probably super bad that he had been knocked unconscious twice in one day. His second thought was that wherever he was, he was warm and comfortable. He slowly sat up, squinting against the light. He was lying on a mattress, covered in blankets on the floor of a small office. All the desks and cabinets were pushed to the edges of the room, and there were windows both above and across from him. He could see the dark night sky above him and realized with a groan that he must have been asleep for hours for it to be night already. After rooting around for his backpack, he found his flashlight and turned it on. A canteen of water sat on the floor next to him with a little note that said “drink up.” He recognized Ginny’s handwriting from the scribbles she left in the margins of the map. He smiled and drank.

His joints ached as he stood, but he felt better than he had in ages. His head was clearer, lighter. The door in front of him was closed so he pressed his ear against it and listened. He could hear voices on the other side, relaxed, happy. Harry did his best to fix his tragic bed-head then opened the door.

Everyone stopped talking and looked up as he stepped out. Ginny was the first to jump up and throw her arms around him.

“You asshole,” she said, hugging him fiercely.

“Why am I an asshole?” he laughed and returned the embrace.

“We thought you were gonna _die,_ ” Ron said, sounding pleased to see him.

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asked.

“Give the man some space, he just rose from the dead, didn’t he?” Harry could hear the laughter and relief in Cedric’s voice.

Ginny pulled away and held him out at arm’s length. She squinted at him, studying him closely.

“I feel great, Gin,” he said, giving her a smile.

Her cheeks colored and she nodded. “Good. Good. We were all worried.”

She sat back down with the others and Harry lowered himself down in the space between Ron and Cedric. Across from him was a boy he didn’t recognize, his mouth agape as he stared.

“Dean,” Cho said slowly, waving her hand in front of his face. “This is Harry. Say hello to Harry.”

“Hello! Hello, Harry,” Dean’s face broke into a huge smile and he leaned over to shake his hand. “Dean Thomas. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “All good things, I hope.”

“Absolutely excellent things, mate!” Dean grinned. “Immune to the Z-Virus, wandering all alone through the wastelands, fighting off hordes single-handedly, the list goes on. You’re a badass, Harry Potter.”

“You’ve got a fan, Harry,” Ron clapped Harry on the back.

“Stuff it,” Harry gave Ron a shove. Ron shoved him back and Harry threw him in a headlock.

“Harry,” Hermione chided. “Don’t exert yourself. You’ve had a rough go of it, you need to take it slow.”

“It’s not exactly an exertion,” said Harry.

Ron flipped him off and Ginny cackled.

“Harry,” Hermione said again and this time Harry looked at her. She shoved a cup of tea in his direction. Harry glanced around the group and took the cup, releasing Ron.

“Way to bring down the mood, Haz,” Ron rubbed his neck.

“It’s alright,” Harry took a sip of the tea. “So I reckon we lost a day of travel. We can make that up though, if we leave early this morning.”

There was a meaningful glance shared by everyone in the group and Harry felt like he was left out of some important information.

“What?” he asked.

“Well,” Cedric rubbed the back of his neck. “You were actually asleep for…three days, mate.”

Harry felt his stomach lurch. He looked at Ginny as she made a point of not looking at him. He could only imagine the conversations they needed to have. Whether to leave him behind and move on or whether to split up. Whether to shoot him if he died or leave him to turn. He was surprised the arguments they undoubtedly had didn’t wake him sooner.

“Oh.” Harry looked around at their expectant faces, surprised that they’d waited so long. He took a breath.

“Tell me what happened after the tunnels,” he said.

According to the others, Cho had opened the door to the outside just as Harry had fainted. They somehow managed to drag him out of there and shut the door behind them.

“The real kick in the pants was that ‘don’t enter, clickers inside’ was painted on the door,” Cho scoffed, shaking her head. “You would think they would put one of those on the other side too.”

After that, Cedric and Cho ran ahead to the radio tower, which was only half a kilometer away by that point. They met up with Cormac and Dean just as they were packing up to leave. Then they grouped up again, and toted Harry back to the tower where they could all rest and wait for him to recover.

“And now we’re here,” Ron shrugged. “Except Cormac. That tit is outside.” He said sourly.

“I take it we don’t like Cormac?” Harry looked around at them.

Hermione blushed, Ron glowered, and Cho and Dean both winced.

“Moving on,” Harry said quickly, not exactly wanting to get into that right now. “How far are we from camp?”

“About eleven days, if the weather holds,” Dean said, pulling out a map. “Are we sure about taking him straight to camp? Why not Barnard?”

“Who’s Barnard?” Harry asked.

“Barnard is a castle,” Cedric said with a small chuckle. “It’s a base for DA agents and it’s on the way to Linlithgow.”

“Why would we go there and not Hogwarts?” Harry frowned. “And another thing. What is the DA?”

“Oh, Dumbledore’s Army, of course,” Hermione said, as if she hadn’t been keeping it from them the entire time they’d known each other.

“Oh, of _course,_ ” said Harry, dryly.

He caught Cedric’s eye and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Dumbledore’s Army?” Cedric said, looking surprised. “Well. It’s a small group of us at the camp who….don’t exactly adhere to the rules set by those in charge.”

“Like rebels?” Harry recalled the many tried-and-failed uprisings in Camp Surrey. More often than not, it was a bloodbath, with nearly every rebel losing their life.

“Sort of,” Cedric explained. “About a year ago, a woman named Dolores Umbridge, one of the leaders of the camp, took it upon herself to impose some pretty strict rules.”

“No one is allowed to leave unless she gives you express, written permission,” Cho said. “All science programs have been halted until further notice, and there’s been a significant increase in searches and seizures. That’s why we’re not sure if we should take you to Hogwarts first or Barnard.”

“But I thought Dumbledore was the leader?” Harry frowned, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Hogwarts is sort of run by committee. Dumbledore is the de facto leader, but there are others. Like McGonagall, Umbridge, and Snape,” Cedric explained. “You’ll meet all of them when you get there so don’t worry about remembering names now.”

“Some people in the camp think that Dumbledore is unfit,” Dean went on. “He’s a pretty old bloke, you know.”

Harry didn’t know but he left that unsaid. “So you started a club?”

“Yes,” Cedric looked rather proud of himself. “The best and brightest of us started the Army and we’ve been carrying out covert missions ever since.”

“Covert like?”

“Like gathering information, restarting the science programs, finding other survivors, and defending the camp from Death Eaters. You know, breeding insurrection,” said Dean. He looked at Harry. “We even have one or two people who believed you were still alive. Not such a looney idea after all.”

There was a comfortable silence, and they listened to the hiss of rain on the roof.

“What kind of science programs?” Ginny asked curiously.

Dean lit up, “The Phoenix Initiative for starters. That’s the program your mum and her friends started.” He looked at Harry. He felt a shock pass through his at the mention of his mother and he looked at his hands.

“Sustainable living, solar energy,” Cho continued. “Things the older generation considers witchcraft.”

Cedric laughed. A low rumbling sound that Harry found soothing. Then he caught a look passed between Cedric and Cho, and the warm feeling fizzled away. He glanced away quickly and caught Ginny staring at him with an odd, unreadable expression. She looked away.

It was then that they heard someone clomping towards the door and they all reached for their weapons. The door burst open and a tall, swaggering boy walked in, kicking mud and rainwater across the room.

“I see Sleeping Beauty’s awake,” were the first words out of his mouth as he dropped his rifle on the ground. “My shift’s up.” Then he promptly threw himself into a corner and began snoring.

Cedric brushed a fleck of mud off of his cheek and stood, “I’ll take next.”

“No, I’ll go,” said Harry, standing quickly.

“You rest, mate. You just came back from the dead,” Cedric held out a hand to stop him.

“I’ve been resting for days,” Harry gave him a smile and put his gun it its holster. “Where should I go?”

Cedric went to the door, nodding for him to follow. The door opened onto a landing with stairs going in both directions.

“You can take the tower since Cormac already patrolled the grounds,” said Cedric, heading up towards the roof.

“Can I ask why he’s here? He doesn’t seem very well liked.”

“He’s strong, mostly,” Cedric shrugged. “But I had him come because I would rather keep an eye on him out here instead of leaving him to his own devices back at camp.”

“That was wise,” Harry smirked as Cedric opened the door to the roof. The radio tower rose above them like a monolith, rain dripping from the metal rails. The roof wasn’t huge, it only took a few paces to get from one side to the other. It was dark but Harry could see a few meters in all directions, enough to make sure no one came poking around without him knowing about it.

“Shifts are three hours each,” Cedric explained, the rain catching in his hair as he looked down at Harry. “Holler if you need anything, yeah?”

“Got it,” Harry nodded and pulled the hood of his jacket over his head. Cedric left and Harry was alone in the dark.

They left the next morning before the sun rose, after an uneventful night. Harry, Ron, and Ginny stood shoulder to shoulder as they tramped through the thick mud. The rain came in stops and starts, more of an irritant than anything. However, the biggest irritant was probably Cormac. Not only did he walk like a bear, he kept trying to talk to Hermione when she was three people ahead of him. This attracted more than one walker and with the slippery terrain, it was difficult to do away with them quickly and quietly.

“You know if you dig your feet in a bit more you can kill it faster,” Cormac said to Dean after a particularly nasty walker scrap, a scrap in which Cormac was largely unhelpful.

“I’ll remember that,” Dean said dryly then rolled his eyes when Cormac wasn’t looking.

“Maybe if you shut your fat head for a minute and a half we might not have to fight so many of them,” Ron grumbled. Harry gave a small snort of laughter.

“What was that, Weasley?” Cormac stopped in his tracks to look Ron dead in the eyes. Ron slipped to a stop, shrinking a bit as he was nearly a head shorter than Cormac. Ginny casually put a hand on the knife at her hip.

“I didn’t say anything,” Ron lifted his chin, his cheeks coloring.

Cormac sniffed. “That’s what I thought.”

He turned and stomped ahead.

“What a tosser,” Ron muttered, quieter this time.

“Agreed,” Harry said. 

A cold wind howled through the trees and they all slowed to bend their heads against it. With their rain soaked clothes, it blew right through them, chilling them straight to their bones. They looked at one another, worry mirrored in each of their faces, but they forged ahead. Unless they found some kind of shelter, stopping would be useless. At least walking warmed them a little bit and it gave Harry something to focus on besides his numb feet.

The old shack appeared after two days of nonstop rain. It was just sitting there hidden among a thick patch of brambles. Ivy covered it from floor to ceiling, but it had walls and doors and that’s all they really needed. It was a small, one room cabin that smelled of wood rot and decomposing foliage, but it was safe from the wind and rain. There was one small cot in the corner, and a table and chair. But most importantly there was a fireplace. After a brief inspection that yielded nothing, they unanimously decided they would risk being suffocated to death by smoke if it meant they could at least be warm for a little bit They used the dry bits of furniture to try and start a small fire, but more of their fingers were stiff with cold, so it was slow going. 

“I’m freezing my fucking balls off. Can’t you hurry with that?” Cormac said as he made no attempt to help start the fire. Ron fumed in the corner and Hermione tried to soothe him.

Harry gave Cedric a look.

“I know, I know,” Cedric grumbled crossly, frown on his face only deepening the dark circles under his eyes. He straightened before Harry could say anything more. “Cormac, if you’re not going to help, you can’t complain.”

Cormac at least had the decency to look cowed. He didn’t apologize, Harry hadn’t expected him to, but he did shut up and find a place to sit. Harry bent his head back over the pitiful pile of wood and managed to get a small blaze going.

“Atta boy, Harry,” Dean held his shaking hands up to the little fire to warm them. The fire grew slowly, and the floo showed no signs of killing them with smoke, so they sat back and one by one fell asleep as the room warmed.

Harry, having spent three entire days asleep, was wide awake. He was about to offer to take first watch when Ginny’s head tipped, coming to rest on his shoulder, and all thought fled his mind. In the next breath, Ron’s head did the same as he, too, was overcome with exhaustion. Harry felt his heart swell so full he thought it might burst. Such a tender moment shouldn’t be disturbed so he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall, listening to the crackle of the fire.

He did take watch eventually. He waited until Ron and Ginny had both shifted in their sleep before standing and going outside to relieve Cho.

“Thanks Harry,” she said gratefully as she headed inside. The rain had stopped for now but he knew it could start back up again any moment. He sat on the corner of the deck and kept his ears open for any sound, but everything was silent, save for the occasional snore from inside the shack.

Harry was just beginning to freeze when the door to the shack creaked open and Ginny slipped out into the dark beside him.

“Care for some company?” she whispered as she came over and sat. 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Harry asked, shifting to make room for her on the small porch.

“Probably,” she shrugged. “I’m a bit anxious actually.”

“Anxious?” Harry didn’t think Ginny _got_ anxious. “About what?”

There was a lengthy silence and Harry could see even in the low light that she hadn’t meant to say that. She gazed into the blue dark ahead, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Do you think we’ll make it to Hogwarts?” she said, finally.

There was another long pause before Ginny spoke again.

“I miss Fred and George,” she said, sounding like she was trying very hard to keep her voice even. She tucked her knees under her chin. She looked so young in the low light, her eyes half closed and deeply troubled. It struck Harry that they—Hermione, Ron, Cho, all of them—were by all accounts, heavily armed children. Did he ever look like that? He couldn’t imagine it.

“You can talk about it,” he said quietly. “If you want.”

Ginny let out a long breath that seemed to come from the deepest part of her, deflating a little.

“Sometimes it hits me that I might never see them again,” she pulled her knit cap further down on her head. “I might never see the Burrow again. My room, the pond…” She swallowed, looking so desperately sad that it was all Harry could do not to pull her into his arms. “And I never said goodbye to Mum and Dad. I wanted to go kiss them goodbye but I was too afraid they would wake up.”

Her breath came out in one jagged sob before she pulled herself together.

“I…” Harry began, unsure of this suddenly delicate terrain. “Do you still want to come with us?”

Ginny looked up sharply. “Of course!”

“Well. Then after things are sorted at Hogwarts, I’ll take you back to The Burrow myself. All right?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked out into the forest, uncertainty in her eyes. Then she closed them, took a breath, then took his hand.

A shock ran up his arm and his heart stuttered. He was suddenly very aware of how cold and clammy his hands were. He wanted to pull his hand away, wipe it on his jeans, then try again. Instead, he shifted his grip so their fingers were interlaced. They sat that way as the night bled into a grey dawn.

Harry nearly leapt out of his skin as shouting and crashing exploded inside the shack. He and Ginny leapt up and rushed inside. The table had been overturned and both Ron and Cormac were being held away from each other, Hermione using her full weight on Ron’s chest to keep him back while Dean had Cormac in some kind of hold with his arms locked behind him.

“What’s going on? Cedric?” Harry looked to him.

Cedric opened his mouth but Ron snarled. “That knobhead doesn’t know when to shut his goddamn mouth!”

Cormac roared and strained against Dean’s hold.

“I can knock him out if you want,” Dean said mildly.

“That won’t be necessary,” Cedric rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Why don’t you take a walk?” Harry suggested, wanting to get them apart as quickly as possible. “Ron. Come on.”

If looks could kill Cormac would be lying bloody on the floor, such was the ferocity of Ron’s glare. But he very gingerly took Hermione’s hands off of him and followed Harry outside. Harry let Ron storm ahead of him, kicking rocks and shrubs as he went. Finally, having abused the forest enough, Ron dropped back to walk beside him.

“What did he say?” Harry asked.

Ron shook his head, sucking in his cheeks. “I don’t…want to repeat it.”

“Ron.”

“He said some shit about Hermione, okay? Lewd shit.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They walked into the forest for a few more meters then came about in a wide circle, heading back for the shack.

“So you punched him?” Harry asked finally. Ron smirked in spite of himself, then grinned.

“Yeah,” he said. “Right in that fat mouth of his.”

Harry laughed, “Good. If one of us had to, I’m glad it was you.”

“Honestly? Me too,” said Ron, in better spirits now.

The shack came into view and Harry knew something was wrong. The door was standing open and Ginny and Cho were standing on the porch, looking concerned.

“What’s happened now?” Harry asked.

“Cormac stormed off,” Ginny replied. “Right after you two went. I thought he was coming after you.”

“We didn’t see him,” Harry shook his head. Dean and Cedric emerged from the shrubbery, arguing quietly. They looked relieved when they saw Harry and Ron.

“Did you find him?” Cho asked.

“No,” said Dean. “I vote that we wait half an hour and if he’s not back, we leave.”

“Seconded,” Cedric nodded.

Ginny raised her hand and so did Cho.

“I agree. Let’s start packing up,” Harry followed the others back inside, where Hermione was already putting out the fire. She flushed red when Ron appeared and barreled towards him.

“Ronald Weasley, I don’t need you fighting for my honor, alright?” She jabbed a finger in his face. She wasn’t very big or intimidating but Ron flinched back and ducked his head. “I can take care of myself without you making an ass of yourself! And another thing—”

Harry stopped listening at this point. He wasn’t the one getting reamed and Hermione had a way of shouting where it seemed like she didn’t need to take a breath. So he made himself busy packing his things away and putting on a dry jacket.

They were about to leave when they heard three gunshots. They all froze like deer, eyes wide. Harry motioned for them to get down, below the windows. He crept to the front-facing window and peeked out. The forest was still. Then he heard the distinct sound of bushes being thrashed and Cormac burst out from the undergrowth. Harry would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little disappointed.

“It’s Cormac,” he said to the others, standing and opening the door.

“That dumb son of a bitch,” said Ginny. “We should go before every walker in town comes after us.”

“Right,” Cedric opened the door and approached Cormac. They had a low conversation which ended with Cormac walking away with his tail between his legs. Harry prayed to never be on the receiving end of Cedric’s wrath. They gave Cormac a few minutes to gather himself and his belongings before they plunged back into the woods.

The walkers were climbing out of the woodwork now and it took half a day just to be rid of them. Even Cho was complaining at this point. Surprisingly, Cormac was silent. Although he still trudged like a bear, he spoke rarely and only when needed. Harry supposed that tongue lashing from Cedric put the fear of god into him or something.

The sky was grey and the wind was unrelenting, but the rain had stopped. For that, Harry was grateful, but the dropping temperature and the consistent wind meant a storm was coming. A storm, or snow.

“What if it does snow?” Dean asked after Harry pointed out the distressing weather conditions.

“We’ll just have to deal with it when it happens,” Cedric replied, trying, a bit comically, to hold the map up against the wind. “I can’t see anywhere we could stop on the map. Just forests and fields.”

“Can you see _anything_ on that map?” Harry grinned and helped unfold it.

Cedric smiled sheepishly, “Thanks. I’m sure there’s got to be some kind of village somewhere.”

“We found that cabin all right,” Ron said. “It was a lucky break, but we’re pretty lucky I think.”

“We’re many things, but I’m not sure ‘lucky’ is one of them,” Ginny joked. “Ragamuffins, yes. Hooligans, probably.”

“Babies with shotguns?” Hermione said in a rare attempt at banter. Delighted, Ginny threw her head back and laughed. 

“I’m just saying, we tend to find shelter when we need it,” Ron shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face. “Chances are, we’ll probably be fine.”

“Probably,” said Harry.

It was Ron’s optimism that buoyed their spirits enough to keep up the pace. And indeed, their luck held and they came across an abandoned tent city in the forest. The boughs of the trees had been twisted and tied together so tightly, that the ground beneath them was bone dry. There was a fire pit and spare kindling beside it. The tents were empty and the fire pit was cold, and there were a few backpacks and supplies left behind. Whoever had lived there, had left in a hurry. So they put up some noise traps in a circle a few meters around the tent city and started to settle in for the evening. Harry chafed a bit as he watched them lay out their sleeping bags. There was still light in the sky, and there would be for hours, but he had been outnumbered.

“We might not find any other shelter if we keep moving,” Cedric had said when Harry put up a fight. The others had agreed and that’s all there was to it.

“We’ll make more progress tomorrow,” Ginny said, putting a hand on his shoulder before going to help set up the noise traps. Harry huffed a sigh and tossed his things into a tent. He felt a little guilty for sulking, listening to the others talking and starting a fire. He felt twice as guilty when he remembered the way it was when he had been traveling by himself. He used to run himself ragged, traveling day and night until he passed out from exhaustion. This was better. Definitely better.

He must have dozed off at some point. He couldn’t remember what woke him but he felt unsettled. Opening the tent, he saw the embers of the fire glowing dimly. He could hear the sounds of sleep coming from the other tents. He could also hear the sound of Cormac trudging through the grass. He saw his outline lumbering into the forest. Probably off to take a piss. Harry shook his head and started to dig through the food pack. The sound of one of the noise traps drew his attention and he swore softly.

 _That idiot must have run into the lines._ He thought. When the sound didn’t stop, he snatched up a flashlight and stood, following the path Cormac had taken. Anger roiled inside of Harry as he fought down the urge to rip Cormac a new one. Not only was he going to wake the whole camp, he was putting them all in danger by making a racket.

“Cormac,” Harry hissed when he saw him. “Cormac, you git, you’re going to get us killed.”

Cormac didn’t respond right away. But as Harry drew closer, Cormac stopped struggling against the lines of the noise trap and slowly turned to face him. Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach, heavy as lead. Cormac’s skin had gone a sickly grey, and his eyes had clouded over. He bared his teeth and let out a low growl as he saw Harry, and began to move towards him. Harry reached over his shoulder, only to realize he left his bat back at camp. The only weapon he had was his gun. He stepped back, slipping a bit in the mud. 

Cormac growled again, reaching towards Harry.

“No, no, no,” Harry’s throat had gone dry. He didn’t want to shoot him. He didn’t want to shoot anyone. Panic set in, chilling his bones. His hand shook as he stumbled back in the dark. In the flashes of light, he saw Cormac’s horrible face then it changed to Mrs. Figg and back to Cormac in a disorienting strobe effect. Harry tasted metal as he drew his gun. Too late. He was slipping in the mud. He was on his back. Cormac was on him. Shoot him, kill him, _kill him._

There was a deafening crack and Cormac’s full weight came down on him. Dead. Harry kicked his corpse off and scrambled backwards. He fought to keep the sick down inside of him. Then he realized, he hadn’t fired his gun. He whirled around and saw Cho standing there with her pistol shaking in her hand.

Neither one of them spoke as the others came running.

“Oh God,” Hermione covered her mouth as she arrived on the scene. She turned away and hid her face in Ginny’s shoulder. Cedric’s face was pale in the dark as he put together what had happened.

“I didn’t see a bite,” Dean said hoarsely.

“He must have hidden it,” Cedric knelt beside Cormac and shut his eyes.

“The gunshots. From before,” said Cho, putting the safety back on her gun. “He must have been fighting off a walker.”

“Why didn’t he say anything?” Ginny whispered.

Harry could only stare on in horror. No one said aloud the words they were all thinking; none of them had actually asked what had happened in the woods.

They buried his body as well as they could, considering the muddy terrain and their lack of shovels. They didn’t have much of a service, though Cedric and Dean managed to say something kind about him before they left. Hermione was inconsolable. Not because she had any tender feelings for Cormac, but rather because she didn’t. For the rest of the night, Harry was numb. He couldn’t sleep, he just kept seeing Cormac’s face peering at him through the dark.

So he got up and started packing. The others must have been in the same state as him, because one by one they crawled out of their tents and joined him. They started walking well before dawn. It was slow going until the sun came up. They crested a hill and the forest dropped away as the sun rose above the fields. Hanging back from the group, Harry took a deep breath, letting the cold air shock him back to life. Then he felt something wet and cold touch his face. He opened his eyes and fat flakes of snow were falling all around him.

The others had stopped as well, looking up at the sky. Harry’s eyes remained ahead, across the forests and fields. They were close. He could almost see the castle. He could almost see home.

 

**End Part One**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of Part One of this series! I'm so excited to be heading into the next leg of the story. It only took 16 chapters for us to get out of the literal woods. I promise, the next chapter we'll finally, _finally_ get to Hogwarts and really start getting into the meat of the story. I'm so, so jazzed to start Part Two and I want to thank everyone who's reading this right now. And shoutout to Team Proofread for taking time out of their days to edit my chapters and help me become a better writer. Anyway, thank you for reading and I can't wait to see what's next!


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